


samarra

by gothyringwald



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Homophobic Language, Horror Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Magic, Memories, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Slash, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: When the kids bring Billy back from the dead, it doesn’t go quite as expected: he’salivebut his soul has been left behind. And Steve is the only person who can bring it back.





	1. THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wanting to write something similar to this for over a year—my initial idea was closer to one of my favourite episodes of Xena, “Dreamworker”, but the basic idea of some kind of metaphysical quest has remained at the back of my mind and I’m happy I’m finally working on it!  
  
A HUGE thank you to granpappy-winchester/lazybaker for cheerleading/helping me with plot & other issues/generally being awesome and enthusiastic and another HUGE thank you to socknonny for the same <333 This fic would not be here without them!
> 
> Title is a reference to W Somerset Maugham's retelling of ["The Appointment in Samarra"](https://www.k-state.edu/english/baker/english320/Maugham-AS.htm) (which I first heard of via Agatha Christie)
> 
> ♡ [Moodboard](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/629101869119193088/samarra-rated-t-wip-when-the-kids-bring)  
♡ [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5BXIgKJra29o29tBkfSrqG?si=o7Qb9ZwSTuu4fkDf-jDyOg)  
♡ [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com.au/gothyringwald/fic-samarra/)

'What did you do?' Steve tries to keep the panic out of his voice but it seeps in, soaking his words. Crawling up from his throat, starting as a fluttering thing in his chest. He's standing in Billy Hargrove's bedroom and Billy's things are all packed into boxes because Billy died three months ago.

But now—

But now Steve is standing in Billy Hargrove's bedroom, and— 

Everyone is here but it feels so _empty_. Steve had never seen it before tonight but there's a sense of something missing, of absence, hanging heavily over the whole room. The whole house.

But Steve is standing in Billy's bedroom because Dustin had called in a panic at midnight, telling him to get to Max's _right now, Steve_, and so Steve had raced over with Robin.

He'd gone through so many possibilities of what could have happened in the drive over to Cherry Road, his heart pounding, Robin casting worried glances at him from the passenger seat.

But he never thought—

Holy shit.

He never thought of this.

How _could_ he think of this?

Because Billy Hargrove died three months ago and tonight he's sitting on his bed. Wearing his leather jacket, staring blankly ahead, and very much alive.

'What did you _do_?' Steve repeats, panic lacing every syllable now. His breathing is growing shallow. His palms tingle. 

He looks around at Dustin and Lucas and Mike and Max. He looks at Robin, who has gone pale, her usually quick tongue lost for words.

What did they _do_?

'We brought Billy back,' Max finally answers. Her voice wavers, is small in the eerie stillness of Billy's room, but she juts her chin out defiantly. Like she's saying, _And I'd do it again_.

'We can see that,' Robin breathes. There's no sarcasm in her tone—just awe and disbelief.

Steve glances at the Billy shaped _thing_ huddled on the bed. He's so still, except for the rise and fall of his chest, and the occasional darting of his eyes. Like a trapped animal. 'Why is he like that?'

Max chews her lip, eyes going glassy, and looks away.

There's silence as the other kids exchange a glance that could be nervous or guilty or both.

It's Dustin who answers: 'He came back…wrong.'

'Wrong how?'

'He's missing something.'

Steve frowns. Billy doesn't look the way he thought someone brought back from the dead would look. Not that he'd thought much about it. Why would he? 

But Dustin had made him watch some zombie movie one time and Billy doesn't look anything like the creatures in that. Billy is pale, but it's not a _deathly_ pale. It's a hasn't seen the sun in a while pale. And he looks like he's all there. Physically, at least. And— 

Oh.

Steve swallows. 'Missing what?' He's not sure he wants the answer.

The kids exchange another look. 

Robin glances at Steve, twirling her finger in her hair. She looks over at Billy. 'What's he missing?'

'His soul,' Lucas says.

Steve almost wants to laugh. It sounds so ridiculous. So Sunday school. Billy's missing his _soul_ . Steve doesn't think much about things like souls—he went to church sometimes with his mom as a kid, when his mom would remember, but it never meant much to him. He's never thought about his own soul, hadn't thought about whether he believed in them at all, let alone what might happen to them when you… 

When you—

'What do you mean his soul?' Steve finally asks. He doesn't know what else to say.

Dustin clears his throat. 'A soul is the spiritual or immaterial part—'

Steve holds up a hand. 'I get the concept,' he says, 'but how is his missing?' He doesn't want to look at Billy but there's no way to forget that he's in the room. 'And how is he even here, soul or not?'

'We used a spell,' Mike says, like someone might say, 'I got it from Melvald's.'

Robin's eyes light up. 'A spell? You did this with _magic_?'

Dustin nods. 'Yeah, we had to use candles and there was a chant and everything—'

'Not helping!' Steve says. He turns in a circle and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

A spell. A goddamn spell.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This was not how he planned to spend his Friday night. He was having a nice time, watching movies with Robin. They were weird black and white movies, some weren't even in English, but it was nice. It was _normal_.

And _now_—

Now. There's a zombie.

'Steve, are you OK?' Robin says.

'I'm fine, I'm fine.' He sounds hysterical but he doesn't care because there is a _zombie_ sitting right behind him. 'Why wouldn't I be fine? Turns out magic is a thing and now we have a zombie on our hands.'

'He's not a zombie,' Max says, eyes stormy.

It pulls Steve out of his spiral of panic. This is weird for him, but it hits him that this isn't something the kids did on a whim. This must mean so much to Max. He can't even imagine. 'I—' He swallows. 'Sorry. This is just a lot.'

'No shit,' Mike says.

Everyone glares at him.

He shrugs and says, 'I didn't say we shouldn't have done it. We helped Max because she's our friend.' He looks at Steve. 'She's your friend, too. Right?'

'Uh, yeah.' Steve looks around at everyone. He doesn't like the way they look back. 'What? What's going on?'

'The spell wasn't complete, the first time. We didn't read it right,' Lucas admits. 'But we can fix it.'

'OK…'

Everyone looks at him expectantly. Steve feels lost. Has felt lost…well, for a long time, but tonight it started right around the time he burst into Max's house, not knowing what he'd find, and found that Billy Hargrove had been fucking resurrected.

'I think they need you, Steve,' Robin says.

'What for?'

'Another spell,' Mike says.

'Oh, no. No.' Steve waves his hands and moves toward the door. 'I will help you guys, but I am not doing magic.'

'You don't have to do it,' Dustin says.

Steve pauses. 'Then what?'

'We do it to you.'

Steve blinks. 'You'—he points at each of the kids in turn—'do magic? To me?' They nod and he adds, 'You, who got the first spell wrong? That's who's doing magic to me?'

Another collective nod.

'And why me, specifically? Why can't someone else do this?' Why can't anyone else do it. Steve will do anything for these kids. Anything. But magic…this is crazy.

'Can I see the spell?' Robin asks. Lucas hands her a large, leather-bound book, which is already opened. Robin looks it over, brow furrowed, and then her eyes widen. 'Oh.' She moves over to Steve and points to the page. 'It says here the spell needs someone he spilt blood with.'

'OK, sure, we had that fight. But…I mean, Billy was an angry guy.' Steve licks his lips. He doesn't look at Billy. 'Someone else must have…' He trails off because he knows there's no point in protesting. 

'There's no one else, Steve,' Max says. 'Please. We can't leave him like that.' She looks over to where Billy has been sitting silently, and Steve follows her gaze.

Something awful coils in his stomach. Billy is so still and quiet and so very unlike the Billy Steve remembers. Letting him live like that wouldn't be right and it's not like they can— 

Steve doesn't know if Billy understands what's going on, if there's any part of him left in there if his soul is missing, but Max is right. They can't leave him like that. 

Steve sighs. 'What do I have to do?'

A smile breaks over Max's face and she says, 'You need to retrieve his soul.'

'Of course I do.' Steve sucks in a breath. 'From where?'

'Um. Purgatory,' Dustin says.

'_Purgatory_,' Robin says.

'Jesus Christ.' Steve runs a hand through his hair.

'You're not going to back out, are you?' Max asks, a mix of worry and accusation in her tone.

'No,' Steve says, resigned. 'Just…tell me what I have to do.'

They make some weird potion—Jesus Christ, an actual potion—for Steve to drink. It's a murky reddish-brown and Steve doesn't want to think about what's in it. It doesn't taste as disgusting as it looks, though; it's a bitter but clean taste and it goes down easily. 

Dustin explained that the potion would separate Steve's soul from his body and the spell would send it to purgatory so he could bring Billy's soul back. Because the potion had some of Billy's blood in it—which, ugh, Steve does _not_ want to think about—he should be sent to wherever Billy is, specifically, in purgatory. Or Billy's own personal purgatory. The spell was vague on that point. It was also vague on how Steve is meant to bring Billy back but he's _just not thinking about it_.

Steve lies on the bed when Dustin tells him to, all too aware that Billy is beside him, and hopes the spell is over before he has time to reconsider everything.

The kids and Robin begin to chant; Steve feels lightheaded. As the world is starting to fade around him, Lucas says, 'Wait! There's another bit. It says you have to witness Billy before you can bring him back.'

'What does that mean?' Steve asks but his tongue is thick and heavy and the words slur. 'What does that mean?'

And then the world fades to grey.

When Steve comes to, he's still lying on Billy's bed. It doesn't register that Billy isn't beside him, because his head feels thick and he's trying not to puke.

'Guys, I don't think it worked.' He rubs a hand over his face and looks around. Everyone is gone. Weird.

He stands on wobbling legs and moves over to the door. He opens it and steps out.

And then he falls.

—

And falls.

And falls.

Into nothing.

Pitch black above and below and all around.

It feels like he falls forever.

It's so much worse than being in the elevator that went to the underground lair, because even though it felt like that would never end, he knew it had to.

But this could go on and on and on.

And still he keeps falling.

Maybe the spell went wrong. Maybe he's going to spend the rest of his life like this.

Maybe he's already dead.

There's a strange kind of freedom in it, though. The first few moments had been terrifying—Steve had screamed and screamed but the blackness around him swallowed up any sound—but now…there's nothing to do but surrender to the fall.

When he does finally land, it's flat on his ass. Of course. The ground is smooth beneath him but he can't tell if it's cold or warm. And it's still dark. Still…nothing. 

Steve has never been scared of the dark, not even after everything, but there's something unsettling about this complete absence.

'Hello?' Steve says but his voice is sucked into the all-encompassing gloom. He stands, legs wobbly beneath him. He's not sure if it's that the space around him is moving or if he'd got so used to falling that stillness feels wrong.

And that's when he realises there's no movement in this place. No air at all. No sound, either. No scent, no taste, nothing. 

'Hello,' he calls again, but his voice still won't carry. His heart races. Where the fuck is he?

There is a click and a hiss and then a flickering light that grows stronger with every second. Steve shields his eyes against it, blinking as they readjust. At least he'll know where he is, now.

But the light only brings more questions; the space around him is filled with static, like snow on a television screen. It's all around—the walls, the floor, the ceiling, if this place has any of those—no end in sight. 

'What the fuck?' His voice carries, now, but it's crackly. Like a poorly tuned radio.

A few steps away there is a television set, static snow filling its screen. He walks over to it, his footfalls silent, then pauses. Did the television turn itself on or—

'Is someone else here?'

No answer.

Steve is caught between the curiosity of the television and the possibility that he's not alone. He _feels_ alone. But, still, he turns from the television and walks. And walks some more. In every direction. But no matter how far he walks or in which direction he goes, he ends up back in front of the TV.

'OK'—he should be breathless and sweating after walking for so long but he's not—'guess someone wants me to watch TV.'

He crouches in front of the set and fiddles with the dial until he gets a picture. It's wavy but he can make out enough of the image.

It looks like…an infomercial?

'What the fuck?'

'Is your reanimated corpse lacking something?' a voice says, over an image of Billy sitting huddled on his bed. 'Is he looking a little rundown? Lacklustre?'

Steve's mouth hangs open. 'What the _fuck_?'

'What you need,' the infomercial continues, 'is one soul. That's right. One soul.'

'But not just any old soul. You need Billy Hargrove's soul.'

The image changes, showing Billy as he was. As Steve remembers him.

'How much would you pay? $50? $100? Well, today, for the very low price of absolutely nothing, Billy Hargrove's soul can be yours. But wait, there's more. Because today only, we're going to give you this set of kitchen knives, too. That's right, not only do you get Billy Hargrove's soul but this brand new set of kitchen knives at no extra cost.'

'What is going on?' Steve says. If he didn't already know that he can't get out of this place, that he'd keep ending up back in front of the TV, he'd run. But there's a feeling in his gut, besides, telling him to stay. That it is important that he watch this. Even if it doesn't make sense.

'But wait, there's so much more!'

The infomercial drones on. The voice is familiar, but Steve is too confused to place it.

There's a hiss and then the channel changes. Steve isn't touching the dial.

'Soul it does…'

It's Billy on a red carpet, wearing a tux, his hair slicked back, looking like a glamorous movie star.

'Soul it does a body…'

Billy as a radio DJ.

'Soul it does a body good!'

A line of cartoon Billys walking through the snow.

'Pass it on.'

Billy as a blacksmith, Billy pouring a glass of something wispy and glowing, Billy watching TV, a boatful of Billys. One Billy after another, all doing something different, but all singing the jingle. _Soul it does a body good._

'Pass it on,' Billy says again, with a wink.

The channel changes.

It's _another_ commercial starring Billy. Steve realises, now, it was Billy's voice he'd heard in the first infomercial too. He doesn't know what it means, though.

If this is meant to help him find Billy, he has no fucking clue _how_. But maybe it's a trick. Something to taunt him. Or something to do with what Lucas had said about witnessing Billy. Is Steve meant to watch Billy in an endless stream of commercials? 

Is that what purgatory is?

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. At the same moment the channel changes again. 

There's one commercial after another, over and over and over, until Steve feels queasy from the flashing images and the panic that's forming in the pit of his stomach.

He's about to try to find a way out of this place when the channel changes once more. This time there is only a figure standing in a grey room. Or not a room. A grey…nothing. It's Billy. Again. But not like the Billy in the other commercials. 

'Billy,' Steve says, 'Billy, where are you?' He doesn't know if Billy can hear him, but he has to try. 'How do I get to you?'

Billy turns and looks straight out at Steve. 'You're not meant to be here,' he says and then the screen goes black.

All the light is sucked out of the room. 'Billy?' Steve turns the dial, groping in the dark, but the TV won't come back on. 

Then someone grabs his wrist and whispers, 'Run.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I’m pretty nervous about this one so, um, yeah. *runs and hides*
> 
> OK, wait, first some notes!
> 
> I’m aiming to update once a week at the same time (my RSI in my thumb/wrist has been pretty bad lately though so it depends on that) :) I have [a moodboard for this chapter on my Tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/188179122320/samarra-chapter-one-of-seven-rated-m-27k) \- I’m hoping to make one moodboard per chapter because why the heck not? I really like making them! Haha
> 
> I have [a playlist I’ve been listening to](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5BXIgKJra29o29tBkfSrqG?si=o7Qb9ZwSTuu4fkDf-jDyOg) for inspo over here if anyone is interested or curious :) It's quite synth heavy! And [here’s my Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com.au/gothyringwald/fic-samarra/) for the fic, too! 
> 
> A couple of other things:
> 
> The infomercial is just a generic infomercial (I watched a bunch of old infomercials/PSAs and the world stopped feeling real lol)  
The ‘soul it does a body good’ commercial is based on the ‘milk it does a body good’ campaign. Specifically [this version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MzQ098b-BgU). 
> 
> (Also sorry if you get a subscription email twice and one is a dead link because I messed up posting this at first so deleted it and started again haha)
> 
> _Now_ I’m going to run and hide! Haha


	2. LETHE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another huge thanks to socknonny and granpappy-winchester/lazybaker for looking this chapter over for me! They're the best!
> 
> And I know I've tagged for it but I know it's easy to skim over them so: there is abuse and (internalised) homophobia in this chapter - ymmv on how intense it is but yeah

'Billy, is that you?' Steve asks whoever has a hold of his wrist, whoever is pulling him along with urgency in the dark. 

There's no reason to think it's Billy, but he was sent here to find Billy and he _wants_ it to be him. It would make this all so much easier. Find Billy. Bring him home for Max. Forget about spells and purgatory and possibly possessed television sets.

But Steve has a feeling, not only in his gut but in every fibre of his body, that nothing about this is going to be easy.

'Where are we going?'

No answer.

Steve's heart thuds.

It occurs to him that there could be anything out there in the dark. That maybe— 'Is someone after us?'

Still no answer. So Steve gives into the sensation of being pulled along, just as he gave into the feeling of falling. If he landed, eventually, then this will have to come to an end, too…right?

The hand on his wrist is warm and strong, fingers digging into Steve's racing pulse. 

'Are we going home?'

'No.' The answer startles Steve, who hadn't expected one. 'I'm not going home.'

And before Steve can ask what that means, the hand on his wrist propels him forward. He stumbles out into the light, expecting, or hoping, that Billy will be beside him. But he's alone. 

And in a department store.

'What the fuck?' Steve rubs his forehead and turns in a circle. Rows of fluorescent lights line the ceiling, giving everything that too-sharp, too-real look that all department stores have.

A department store. Steve shakes his head.

Is he back home? He looks around but the store doesn't seem familiar. He walks, looking over the store, but the further he goes, the fuzzier everything looks, until he reaches a point where the store blurs into…nothing. 

Not home, then. Fuck.

He walks back to where he started. 

Maybe purgatory isn't an endless stream of commercials, after all, it's a department store. Makes a weird kind of sense.

Racks of dresses stretch out all around. Everything looks kind of old-fashioned, reminding him of the rough nylon of his mother's hems, how they brushed against his face when he'd hug his small arms around her knees. 

Some days, she would laugh at him, sweep him up into her arms and squeeze him tight. 'There's my handsome little man,' she would say. Other days, she would swish him away, barely glancing at him—'Mommy's busy, Steven'—until he got out from under her feet.

He'd toddle off, confused because he could never tell—still can't tell—which mother he would get. And then he'd be distracted by his matchbox cars or Tommy H coming around to play and forget about it all.

But he's not here to reminisce. He's here to find Billy.

'Billy!' a woman's voice calls out across the racks of nylon. Steve turns. There's a blonde woman, turning this way and that. Frantic. Her hair is long and her clothes are loose and billowy. She's pretty.

'Billy, where are you, baby?'

Steve's heart thuds. Is someone else looking for Billy?

'Mom!' A small boy is standing a few steps away from Steve, clutching a GI Joe in one hand. His lip is wobbling and his blue eyes shine with tears. He looks about three or four. 'Mom, I can't find you.'

'Billy!' the woman calls again and Steve looks at the little boy and—

No way.

Steve looks at the little boy, at his blond curls, at his blue eyes framed by dark lashes, and something in him _knows_ that he's looking at Billy Hargrove. He takes a step closer, crouching, and reaches out a hand. 'Billy, is that you?'

The boy doesn't look at Steve. Tears are falling down his flushed cheeks and he looks about two seconds away from a complete meltdown.

'Billy, it's OK,' Steve says, 'I'm here to help.'

No reaction.

Steve frowns. Maybe the boy is too lost and scared to hear him.

But when the woman, who has followed the sound of Billy's voice, comes over and scoops Billy into her arms and Steve says, 'Hey', she doesn't look at him. Doesn't even turn. The small crowd that's gathered to help the young mother find her lost son don't look at him either.

It's like he's not here.

He turns to a woman in the crowd, tries to get her attention, but stops short. She doesn't have a face. 

No one does. Only Billy and his mother.

And all the dresses on the racks are the same. Not just the same style, but the same colour. Every single one of them. 

'Shh, baby, don't cry. Momma's got you,' the woman says, holding the small boy tight, 'Momma's always got you.'

The boy tucks his head into his mother's neck, sniffling, his small hands clutched tight in her shirt.

Something squeezes tight in Steve's chest at the sight. To see Billy so young and so vulnerable. But as heartwarming as the scene is, Steve doesn't know why he's seeing it. Or even what it is.

There's a thought, though, niggling at the back of his mind. Because if the boy _is_ Billy then…well, maybe—

'It's a memory,' Steve says, out loud.

'Ding ding ding,' a voice says from somewhere behind Steve, 'we have a winner, folks.'

Steve turns. Across the store there is a wall of televisions. And Billy is on every one of them.

'Billy,' Steve says, 'is that you?'

'Yeah, it's me,' the Billys say in unison, 'don't cream your pants.' They all wink.

'You can hear me?' Steve licks his lips and looks behind him.

No one else seems to notice the televisions and everything has taken on a hazy quality, like when you first wake up and your vision hasn't cleared yet. 

Steve blinks, but it only makes everything hazier. 'Billy, what's going on?' he yells across the racks of dresses.

'Steve Harrington, this is Billy Hargrove's life,' Billy says. He's holding a large book, flipping through its pages. 'What do you want to see next?'

'What?'

'Make up your mind, Harrington, time's running out.' Billy's not on every television now. One by one they're turning off. 

'Billy!' Steve calls out. He moves toward the televisions but there are too many racks in the way. 'Billy, wait! I need to find you.'

Steve pushes through the dresses; there are more than he thought there were. Rows and rows of nylon, growing with each step he takes, until he can no longer see the store, can no longer see anything but a riot of rainbow dresses.

This place keeps getting weirder and weirder.

Steve's pulse quickens and his breathing shallows. 

He doesn't want to die like this, suffocated in the women's department.

_Can_ he die here?

With that thought he stumbles into a bedroom.

The gold light of sunset filters through lace curtains, motes of dust caught in the hazy glow. But, despite that, the room feels cold. Empty, though it's clearly lived in.

Steve's about to leave the room when angry voices filter in from outside. His heart leaps. No one could see him in the department store but what if it's different here?

He steps back into the closet and closes the door.

—

'I don't believe you!' comes a voice from outside. The door slams open and feet stomp across the floor. 'She wouldn't leave.'

Through the slats of the closet door Steve watches as a boy storms into view. He's wearing faded jeans and a KISS Army shirt. 

'Billy?' Steve breathes. He's older than the boy in the department store—the wide-eyed innocence is gone, replaced by the scowl Steve had seen so many times—and so Steve is more certain that this is Billy. 

Another memory?

A few moments later a man follows Billy into the room. His hair is light and smoothed back, tattoos peeking out from under rolled up sleeves. It's Billy's dad. Steve remembers him from Billy's funeral. 

Jesus Christ.

Billy's _funeral_.

Steve had gone, for Max, feeling awkward the whole time. It was weird, and he spent most of the time thinking about how easily it could be Robin, or Nancy, or Jonathan, or one of the kids being lowered into the ground. Or it could even have been Steve, himself. 

And then he felt guilty for not thinking about Billy at Billy's funeral.

He'd given his condolences to Billy's dad and stepmom and felt a clench in his gut at Max's tear-stained face but he'd gone home after and hadn't felt the loss personally.

Hadn't thought much about Billy at all until he saw him again tonight and agreed to go on this crazy fucking quest.

Mr Hargrove watches as Billy's gaze frantically searches the room, the way Billy's mom had been searching the store for him just a few minutes ago. But it's been years for Billy, Steve guesses.

Steve wonders what Billy is looking for, but then Billy crosses the room and throws open the closet doors. His face twists into shock. For a moment, Steve thinks that Billy has seen him, but then he realises Billy isn't looking at him at all. He's looking to the left of Steve, where the closet is empty. Only forlorn wire hangers left on the rod.

'No.' Billy shakes his head. His eyes shine but his lip doesn't wobble, now. 'She said…she _promised_…'

'Women break promises,' Mr Hargrove says. 'Get used to it, son.'

'She said if she ever…she said she'd take me—' Billy cuts himself off, like he's said something he shouldn't have.

'She just said that to stop you whining at her all the time.'

'No—'

'You always were a momma's boy,' Mr Hargrove says, 'but guess she got sick of it.'

Anger twists Billy's features. He turns to his dad. 'It was your fault,' he says. '_You_— You made her leave.'

One second, Billy is jabbing his finger angrily at his father, the next he's being shoved against the wall.

Steve doesn't even think, he steps out and grabs for Mr Hargrove, to pull him off of Billy. But he can't. 

He's solid enough, and Neil seems solid, but he can't make contact. Why is he seeing this if he can't do anything?

For a moment, it seems like the clock radio on the bedside table comes on and someone says, 'You can't help him'—or was it 'can't help me'?—but it must have been Steve's ears playing tricks on him.

He shakes himself.

He tries again to help Billy, though he knows it's useless.

'I'm sorry,' Billy says, swallowing thickly, 'sir.'

Mr Hargrove lets him go. 'Go to your room,' he says, 'I don't want to look at you.'

Billy rushes from the room and Steve follows him, down the hall, and into what must be his own bedroom. 

There's a KISS poster above the bed and KISS dolls on the floor, Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith posters on the opposite wall; clothes spill out of a laundry basket, and a baseball sits on the bedside table, under a lamp covered with a piece of gauzy black fabric.

Billy stalks over to a radio and turns it on full blast. Music blares, heavy and overbearing. Steve can just make out Mr Hargrove yelling for Billy to turn it down but Billy doesn't. 

He stands in the middle of the room and screams. 'It's not my fault.'

Steve wishes he hadn't followed Billy in here. He shouldn't be seeing this. He's about to leave when the tuning on the radio slips and a voice comes through the music. Like when it's stuck between two stations and you can hear both.

'It was his fault,' the voice says. It sounds like…

'Billy?' Steve turns to the radio, tries to get a better tuning, but he can't move the dial. 

'It was my fault,' radio-Billy says.

Steve blinks. He glances back at the memory of Billy, who is crying with his fists balled at his sides, then turns to the radio. 'What was your fault?' Fuck. He's talking to a _radio_.

Maybe Steve did hear something on the clock radio in Mr Hargrove's room; maybe it was Billy then, too. 

'My mom leaving,' Billy says. 'It was me.'

'What?' Steve sucks in a breath. 'What did you do?'

'It's always me.'

'I don't believe…' Steve trails off. He doesn't know what happened with Billy's mom. But it doesn't matter. There's no way Billy's mom would leave because of him, right? No mom would. Steve licks his lips. 'Billy, tell me where you are. Tell me how to get to you.'

'No.'

'But I need to find you.' Steve's throat feels tight and he's tired. 'I need to bring you home. For Max.'

'I don't want—'

The memory Billy screams again and Steve turns in time to see him punch his wall. It twists in Steve's gut. If he'd ever come home and found his mom gone—

He can't even imagine.

Steve moves towards Billy but he can't help him. He hates this fucking place. 

The radio is playing music clearly, now. No more Billy talking to Steve, only the memory of him, so young and so angry, punching his wall again and again, until his fist goes right through.

Light pours through the hole and for a moment Steve thinks Billy's punched right through to the outside. But it's impossible and it's an inner wall, besides.

Mr Hargrove slams the door open and grabs Billy, screaming into his face. If Steve could stop him, he would, he'd do anything, but he can't change this. 

The stereo is blasting and Neil Hargrove is yelling and Billy is crying but above it all there's another voice. It's coming from the hole in the wall. Indistinct, but calling to Steve.

Steve turns, hesitant to leave Billy alone with his dad even though he knows—he _knows_—he can't help this Billy, and peers into the hole.

There's something on the other side—not the hallway but another place. The hole grows bigger the longer Steve peers into it until all Steve has to do is step through and he's no longer in Billy's preteen bedroom. 

Now he's standing under some bleachers. And he's not alone.

—

The slanting bands of shadows cast by the bleachers fall over two young boys, standing close together, sharing a cigarette. They look about thirteen. One of them is Billy. Unmistakeable.

Billy takes a drag of the cigarette, doesn't look like he's inhaled, and hands it over.

The other boy casts a nervous glance around as he takes a puff, then gives it back to Billy. Steve smiles. He remembers his first cigarette, pilfered from Tommy H's dad's pack of Lucky Strikes. How he'd been so nervous he'd get caught but so excited to do something so grown-up. How he'd coughed until his eyes watered and his dad had grounded him for a month when he smelt cigarettes on him when he got home. 

But there's something in this scene that's different to Steve's memory. It's not only the setting but the _feeling_ of it all. Steve can't put his finger on it.

Not until the boys lean into each other and—

Oh.

That's what's different.

Their lips meet and Steve turns away. Billy wouldn't want him to see this. Any of what he's seen, probably, but this in particular feels achingly intimate.

Steve had never wanted this, not with Tommy, anyway. Hadn't realised he could feel that way about a boy back then.

Steve had no idea that Billy—

Billy pushes the other boy away. Hard enough that he stumbles back, mouth going slack and eyes wide, filled with hurt. 

'I'm not—' Billy wipes his hand over his mouth. 'I'm not a _fag_.'

The words hit Steve hard. He's thought them, himself, but never so violently. Never with so much…hatred. Just a sense of confusion and panic and a sick feeling of wondering if he ever really knew himself, if he didn't know this.

'You kissed me,' the other boy says.

'No. You kissed me.'

'You kissed me back.'

Billy fists his hands in the boy's shirt and shoves him back into a pole with a dull thud. There's a look in his eyes that Steve has seen before—when Billy beat the shit out of him that night at the Byers'. But in Mr Hargrove's eyes, too, only minutes ago.

Years ago.

'I'm not a fag,' Billy repeats. And this time Steve can hear the desperation and fear beneath it. 'And if you tell anyone…you'll be sorry.'

The boy nods, red blotches colouring his cheeks, tears welling in his eyes. Billy lets him go and the boy runs off, but Billy stays in the shadows. He leans his head back against the pole and he looks so young but so much older than he is, all at once.

Steve wants to go to Billy, take him by the shoulders, tell him it's OK. Because when Steve was lost he had Robin but Billy…

Billy wipes a hand over his eyes and sniffles but his own tears seem to make him angrier. He punches and kicks at the pole until he falls to his knees. 

'I'm not, I'm not,' Billy says over and over. He punches the dirt. 

There is a thump-thump thump-thump and Steve realises it's not Billy punching the dirt—it's almost like a heartbeat. It gets louder and louder and louder until Steve has to cover his ears, screw his eyes shut.

When he opens his eyes, he's in a living room and his ears are ringing.

—

The living room is cosy, smaller than Steve's but warmer, more inviting. The TV is on, and a woman and a small boy are sitting together on the sofa. The boy is bouncing a ball on the floor—thump-thump thump-thump—as he watches TV.

It's Billy and his mom; Billy is a few years older than he was in the department store and his mom looks…tired. There's the shadow of a bruise under the long sweep of her blonde hair. 

Steve's chest tightens. 

'I think he's pretty,' Billy says, pointing at the screen, ball forgotten.

Mrs Hargrove freezes. She looks up slowly, following the line of Billy's finger. 

'Don't you think he's pretty?' Billy prompts when she doesn't say anything. 

'No, baby,' she says, forcing a smile, 'men aren't pretty. Men are handsome.'

Something cold settles in Steve's stomach. It slowly spreads through him, until he feels cold all over, prickling under his skin.

'Oh.' Billy's smile falters. 'Well. He's…handsome?'

Mrs Hargrove swallows. 'He is.' She draws in a breath. 'Very handsome.' She smiles again. 'But men don't say that about other men. So, let's keep that to ourselves, OK?'

Billy frowns. He looks at the screen, then back to his mom, who is carefully not looking at Billy. 'OK, mom,' he says, but he sounds confused.

His mother smiles, a tight small thing, and ruffles his hair. 'I saw you talking to Jenny after school today. She's pretty.'

Billy nods—'Yeah'—but his shoulders have slumped, and he's staring down at his hands, bottom lip sticking out.

It's not fair. And Steve doesn't want to see this.

But if there is a rhyme or reason to the order of these memories, if something is guiding Steve through them, then maybe Billy thought his mom left—

'Good evening, viewers, we interrupt this show to bring you this breaking news: Billy Hargrove is a fag.'

Steve wheels around. He crouches, hands braced on the television set. 'Billy.'

Billy is staring out at Steve from the television; Steve has the feeling that he can see and hear Steve, just like he could in that nothing place, like he could in the department store.

'I'm here to take you home,' Steve says, ignoring Billy's comment.

'You shouldn't be here,' Billy says. 'You shouldn't be seeing this.'

'But, I—' Steve shakes his head. 'I didn't know—'

Somewhere a door opens and closes, but Steve doesn't turn. He figures it's probably Neil coming home, so when a hand reaches past him and switches the TV off, he still doesn't think anything of it.

'I _said_, you have no fucking right to see any of this,' a voice says, breath ghosting Steve's neck.

Steve startles. He stands and turns. Billy has his arms crossed over his chest and is glaring daggers at Steve.

The light in the room dims and everything slowly fades until it's just Steve and Billy standing in an empty, dark space. Not the black space he'd been in when he first got here; this is more like an empty stage with one low spotlight shining on it.

'Billy?' Steve runs a hand through his hair. 'What are you doing here?'

'Me?' Billy stalks closer to Steve. 'What am I doing here?' He jabs a finger into Steve's chest. 'This is _my_ afterlife, Harrington. What the fuck are _you_ doing here?'

'I—' Steve presses his lips together. 'I'm here to bring you home. Now that I've found you.'

Billy throws his head back and laughs. 'Oh, Harrington. You haven't found me yet.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) And thanks for all the encouragement on chapter one. I thought this might be one of those weird ones that was personally satisfying and no one else would be into so I'm glad the first chapter was so intriguing! I hope the second chapter has been as interesting :)
> 
> You can find [a moodboard for this chapter here on Tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/188330472840/samarra-chapter-two-of-seven-rated-m-35k) because I'm extra and wanted to make one moodboard per chapter haha 
> 
> I also have [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5BXIgKJra29o29tBkfSrqG?si=o7Qb9ZwSTuu4fkDf-jDyOg) and [a Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com.au/gothyringwald/fic-samarra/) if you're into the behind the scenes kind of stuff
> 
> Speaking of: I'm really happy so many of you are into my concept of purgatory for this fic! I thought I'd talk about some of my influences while I was putting it together, starting with one of my biggest inspirations for this fic (or two, rather): the show _Life on Mars_ and its sequel _Ashes to Ashes_. I love the vibe of those shows and I've tried to capture that here (the talking through TVs/radios, etc., is drawn from there but with a different function). If you haven't seen the shows I 100% recommend tracking them down. They're so unique and clever! 
> 
> In other news: the Harringrove Holiday Exchange is running again! A little late but hopefully not TOO late. Details will be [over here on Tumblr](https://harringroveholidayexchange.tumblr.com/) or in [the AO3 collection here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/harringroveholidayexchange2019). Sign ups will be open later today!


	3. STYX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to socknonny for reading this chapter over for me! <3333
> 
> There are some memories of Billy being a bully, himself, in this chapter btw - just thought I'd give a heads up

'Oh, Harrington. You haven't found me, yet.'

The words ricochet in Steve's skull—clanging and clattering—but he can't make sense of them. 'I haven't found you.'

Billy tilts his head. 'Not all of me, anyway.'

'Thanks. That makes a lot more sense.' Steve's gaze flits up and down Billy's frame. 'You look like all of you.'

Billy winks—'Every inch'—hips pushing forward.

Steve rolls his eyes but heat prickles under his jaw. Even in death Billy is still obnoxious. Typical. Steve props one hand on his hip and tries not to think about how weird it is to be talking to Billy Hargrove's…whatever he is.

'Just…tell me what you mean.'

'I'm all of me, but only part of Billy.'

'Look, don't give me that Cheshire Cat bullshit, OK?' Steve says, irritation flickering in his chest. He rubs a hand over his forehead. 'Just tell me what's going on.' He sucks in a breath. 'Please.'

But Billy doesn't answer Steve's question. He grins, wide and feral, tongue between his teeth, and says, 'Cheshire Cat, huh?' He winks again. 'I like that,' he says, and then, slowly, disappears. The last thing Steve sees is Billy's wide grin before he's gone completely.

'Billy, wait,' Steve says, turning in a circle, 'come back.' He was so close.

So damn close.

A moment later Billy reappears in the pool of a yellow spotlight. 'I'm only fucking with you, Harrington.' 

'You—' Steve grits his teeth. 'Why? I'm trying to _help_ you.'

'Of course you are,' Billy says. 'Steve Harrington, playing the big hero again, right?'

'I'm not trying to be a hero.' If anyone here has ever been a hero, it's Billy. The image of Billy at Starcourt, facing that monster down, is seared into Steve's brain. He'll never forget it. But Steve doesn't tell Billy this. He can't. 

'You sure about that?' Billy moves closer. 'I'm not going to be your damsel in distress.'

Steve flushes. 'I don't want you to be.'

'You don't want me to be your damsel in distress. You don't want to be the hero.' Billy's voice is low, rough, when he says, 'What do you want, Harrington?'

A shiver runs up Steve's spine, sparking at the base of his skull. 'To take you home.' The words come out lower than he meant them to. He steps back, clears his throat. 'For Max.'

Billy hums, nodding. 'For Max.' He shrugs. 'Well, tough shit, because I'm not going home.'

'Why not?'

'This'—Billy turns in a circle, arms spread—'is my home now, isn't it? I'm dead.'

'Max. The kids. They brought you back, with a spell.' Steve licks his lips. 'Your body, anyway. I just need to get—'

'Bury it.'

Steve blinks. 'What?'

'Bury the body.'

'It's… _You're_ alive. We can't just…'

'Kill it. Bury it.' Billy starts to walk away. 'I don't want it.' 

Steve reaches out, not thinking, hand curling around Billy's arm. Billy's skin is cool against Steve's hot palm but it's _real_. He's real.

If Steve can touch this Billy, maybe he can—

Billy looks down at Steve's hand, then back up at Steve. He doesn't say anything but he looks…surprised. It's gone, though, in the blink of an eye, replaced with something cold and impassive. 'Don't touch me.'

'Tell me what's going on.'

'Let go of me.'

Steve pulls on Billy's arm. It sits low and heavy in his stomach, a sickening feeling, to do this after what he's seen. But he needs to _know_. 'Tell me what's going on, Billy.' 

'I don't know.'

'I don't believe you.' But Steve lets go of Billy's arm and holds his hands up, placating. 'You said I had no right to see what I've seen. But there must be a reason I'm seeing it.'

Billy glares at him. 'No.'

'No?'

'You're on a need to know basis, amigo.' Billy jabs a finger to Steve's chest. 'And you don't need to know.'

'But I—'

'_No_.'

The spotlight goes out and Steve can no longer feel the press of Billy's finger. His chest burns cold.

'Billy?'

Another light comes on, a little further away. But it's not shining on Billy. It's shining on two women, sitting at a table. One is a woman Steve has never seen before. The other has red hair and looks familiar.

She was at Billy's funeral, too.

—

'Oh, Susan,' the woman Steve doesn't recognise says, 'that movie was just too much.'

'I know,' Susan says, lifting a cup to her mouth and taking a sip. 'I've never seen two men kiss before.' She shakes her shoulders, out of amusement or disgust, Steve can't tell. Either way, it _stings_. 'Have you?'

'Once,' the other woman says, leaning in, tone confidential. She looks around, but no one else is there. 'In school. I caught two boys…' She trails off with a raise of her brows.

Susan gasps, and it echoes. Hundreds of times. Like a stadium full of people gasping as one.

Steve turns, but there is nothing beyond the stage but darkness. His heart thuds and his palms prickle. He turns back to the scene.

Beyond the glow of the spotlight, the rest of a kitchen is visible. But something about it seems off. The table is real but the fridge behind them is only a cutout, like the props the Hawkins High Drama Club used. Steve was never a drama nerd but he'd gone through them with the prom committee, looking for decorations.

'It was so strange, though, wasn't it?' Susan says. Her pink nails tap on the coffee cup cradled in her hands. Tip tap, tip tap.

'Strange,' her friend agrees, then adds, 'and such a waste of two handsome men.'

Susan hums in agreement.

Steve crosses his arms over his stomach.

Something glints in the darkness of the wings. There's someone standing there, shadowed by the black stage curtains. 

Steve moves until he can see the other person more clearly.

It's Billy. 

This Billy looks more like the Billy Steve had known than some of the other memories, but a little rounder in the face. Younger. He's scowling again, hands balled at his sides. 

Watching. Listening. 

Steve can't figure why the memory is playing out like this. Half-formed. The other memories had elements that were a little off—the other shoppers without faces in the department store—but they weren't like this. They weren't like a play.

'Do you really think they can settle down like that?' Susan is saying, now. 'I mean, two men living together like they're…like they're married?'

Susan's friend shakes her head, and Steve doesn't know if it's a 'no' or an 'I don't know' but it twists in his gut all the same. Hasn't he asked himself the same questions? 

Had Billy asked them, before this?

And Billy is still there in the wings. Watching. Listening.

Somewhere in his gut, Steve knows that despite the theatrical setting, this is a real memory. That Billy had to stand by and listen to his stepmother titter about _this_.

About—

It's not like Billy wouldn't have heard worse. Steve has. From his parents. From himself. But there's something about this conversation, the way the women are talking, that really wrenches in Steve's chest.

Billy storms over, out of the shadows of the wings, and into the spotlight.

'Oh, Billy,' Susan says, 'I didn't know you were home, sweetie.'

Billy glares at her, arms crossed, fingers digging into his biceps. 'My shift ended early,' he says.

His shift? Steve wasn't even thinking about a job at this age. The gulf between his life and Billy's seems to widen further.

'We were just…' Susan trails off, clears her throat. 'Would you like me to make you a sandwich or something?'

'No.'

Susan's friend raises a brow. 'I should get going,' she says to Susan. 'Got to make dinner for my own brood.' She laughs and the invisible audience laughs with her. It's creepy. She kisses Susan on the cheek and walks off into the darkness.

Billy is still glowering, standing silently, on one side of the table. 

Susan is standing on the other side, not looking at Billy.

It's like they're waiting for something. 

Or someone.

A hush falls over the house as another figure enters, stage right.

Neil Hargrove.

'Why don't you make yourself useful?' he says to Billy. 'You're always lazing around.'

Billy's glower deepens and colour rises to his cheeks. He exits, stage left, footsteps heavy. Steve follows.

Onstage, Neil is saying something about Billy needing to learn some responsibility, but it's distant. Unimportant. Steve has to follow Billy.

It's dark outside the glow of the spotlight. Footsteps sound ahead but Steve can't see Billy. There are doors either side, leading to dressing rooms maybe, if this is a theatre. The corridor grows longer with every step Steve takes. He looks back but he can no longer see the stage; the only way is forward.

—

Steve walks on.

Once, he catches a glimpse of Billy and calls out, though he knows the memory Billy can never hear him. 

But Billy pauses, says, 'Who's there?'—_Who's there? Who's there? Who's there?_—and Steve thinks maybe things are changing, maybe he can get through. Or maybe it's the other Billy, now, the one who can hear Steve. 

But then Billy keeps going, disappearing into the dark corridor, and Steve is alone.

His footsteps echo, slow and steady, unlike the thrum of his heart. It's beating like crazy, hammering so hard Steve feels sick with it.

It's so quiet in the corridor that it doesn't take long before Steve realises there are sounds coming from behind each door. Murmuring. Like muffled conversations.

He stops at one, takes a deep breath, and opens it.

Billy is inside. 

He's sitting on the ground, about seven, in a circle of light. Everything around him is dark.

Steve moves to step through the door but his foot meets with nothing but air and his stomach swoops. He sets his foot back in the corridor, clutching the door, and watches.

Billy is playing with some plastic army men, making machine gun noises. There are bandaids on his knees, and dirt on his hands. He reaches beside him for a packet of matches, strikes one, and sets one of the army men on fire. Watches as it melts, a small smile playing on his lips.

He sets another one, then another and another, on fire, delighting in the fiery deaths of the small plastic men. 

A smile tugs at Steve's mouth. It's a little violent, sure, but Billy is having fun. And then a shadow falls over Billy.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' Neil says, swiping the matches from Billy. 'I'm not buying you more of these. We're not made of money.'

'But Dad, I—'

'"But Dad", nothing,' Neil says, grabbing Billy's arm.

Steve shakes his head, chest gone all tight again, and shuts the door.

Behind the next, Billy and Max are sitting in Billy's car. 

Everything around them is a little hazy, but it's not like the darkness behind the last door. 

Still, Steve doesn't want to chance stepping inside. He doesn't want to fall. Not again.

'You know what happens when you lie,' Billy says.

'I'm not lying,' Max says.

Billy looks at her, his silence saying more than words.

The door slams shut.

Steve frowns and moves on.

It's Billy in his car. Behind the back wheel there's a skateboard. Max's skateboard. He starts up the car and reverses. 

Crack. 

The skateboard splits in two.

Billy picks it up and takes it inside the house.

Steve's stomach clenches. He shuts the door but it's heavy and he's left panting by the time he gets it closed.

And then there is another door, another memory.

Billy is holding a kid's arm behind his back. Steve doesn't recognise the kid but he knows the look on his face. Pain and fear. The kid is crying and pleading, struggling against Billy's hold.

Steve's own memories flood him again, of Billy above him, the fury of him as he pounded Steve's face. The taste of blood, his clogged nose, the first burst of pain that turned to a relentless throb. 

He shuts the door and thinks he hears the snapping of bone.

Bile rises up in Steve's throat but he swallows it down.

His hand shakes as he reaches for the next door. He isn't sure he wants to open it but he has to get out of here, somehow. One of these doors will have to get him out of here. 

Billy's parents arguing, Neil grabbing Billy's mom's arm. Hard. Billy steps between them and Neil shoves him out of the way. He crashes into the kitchen counter. His mom goes to him, but Neil stops her. Jerks her back.

Steve pulls at the door but it won't shut. He turns away but he can still hear everything so he grabs the door, pulls with everything he has.

The door shuts and Steve sags against it, breathing heavily. There have to be good memories here, somewhere.

There have to be.

So he keeps going, opening one door after another. But there's so much anger behind each and every one. It's exhausting. It feels more like hell than purgatory.

Eventually, there is only one door left. It's different than the others. Bigger. Maybe this is the one Steve has been looking for.

As he closes his hand around the handle, Steve is only thinking that he wants to find Billy, the real Billy, or at least see something _good_.

He sucks in a breath, steadying himself, then opens the door.

—

The scene fills slowly, fading into view. A blur of colours at first before the details—shining wood floors, a vibrating hoop—come into focus. It's a basketball court, empty at first, but people slowly start to appear. It's all still washed out, though. Sun-faded.

Billy is standing by the sideline, in full colour. 'You again,' he says, without turning.

'Yeah,' Steve says, moving over to stand beside him. 

'Didn't I already tell you to fuck off?'

Steve huffs. 'Not exactly.'

'Well, I'm telling you now.' Billy looks at him sidelong. 'Fuck off, Harrington.'

'I would if I could,' Steve says. He gives a helpless shrug and looks out at the basketball court. 'What is this?'

'What does it look like, Einstein?'

Steve ignores him. 'Is this your old school, or something?' He looks around until he spots Billy on the court, chewing a fingernail, bouncing on his toes.

'They're not here, yet,' Billy murmurs.

'Who?'

'My parents.' Billy licks his lips. 'This is when I made the winning goal. It was the only time my dad—' He stops, looks at annoyed at himself.

'Only time your dad what?' Steve asks.

There is a long stretch of silence, filled with the muted chattering of the memory, before Billy says, 'Told me I did good.' He turns to Steve and repeats, 'It was the only time he told me I did good, OK?'

Oh. A good memory. That's what Steve had wanted and now—

'OK,' Steve says. He can't help but think of how often he's had to see disappointment on his own dad's face. How it _hurts_, no matter how many times Steve disappoints him. Steve wants Billy to know that maybe he can't understand everything—though they share more in common than he ever thought they could—but he can understand _this_ so he says, 'You know, my dad—'

'Don't,' Billy cuts him off. He rounds on Steve. 'Don't you fucking dare compare any part of your apple pie life with mine, OK?'

'Excuse me,' Steve says, voice low and cold. 'I know I can't understand…' He trails off, doesn't want to voice the things he can't understand. 'But you're not the only person who—'

'Shut up. You shouldn't get to see all of this.' Billy fists his hands in Steve's shirt. 'It's not yours.'

'I'm not doing this with you again,' Steve says, folding his hands around Billy's wrists. 'Not here.' He tugs at Billy's hands but his hold is too strong. 'And I didn't ask to see this.'

'I don't care.' Billy shoves him and Steve stumbles back. 

In the memory, Neil Hargrove is clapping Billy on the shoulder—'Well done'—and Billy is flush with victory and pride.

This Billy—whoever, whatever he is—the one who can hear Steve, is watching the scene, his breath coming fast, and his face inscrutable.

'Billy,' Steve says, voice softer than it should be; he reaches out without thinking.

'Get out of here, Harrington.'

'I can't go home without you, Billy.'

'I'm not. Going. Home.'

'Why not?' Steve runs a hand through his hair, draws in a shuddering breath. 'Just tell me.' The crowd is still cheering the win, distant and muted. 'Just tell me because I don't understand why you don't want to come back.'

If Steve were Billy, he wouldn't want to stay here, not if he had a second chance.

'_Billy_.'

Billy looks at Steve, his eyes full of fire. 'Because I don't fucking deserve it,' he screams and shoves Steve again.

Steve hits the floor with a sickening thud, head cracking against the polished wood. Pain flares at the base of his skull. His ears ring. 

It gets louder and louder and louder.

And it won't stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I wasn't sure I was going to get this chapter done in time. Whew.
> 
> You can find a moodboard for this chapter [here on Tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/188481367375/samarra-chapter-three-of-seven-rated-m-28k) Or just find me on tumblr and say hi! Or yell about dumb boys. My inbox is always open :)
> 
> I also have [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5BXIgKJra29o29tBkfSrqG?si=o7Qb9ZwSTuu4fkDf-jDyOg) and [a Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com.au/gothyringwald/fic-samarra/) if you're into that kind of thing!
> 
> Because I mentioned some inspirations last chapter, here's another:
> 
> So, after I thought of the corridor scene, I realised it's kind of similar to the scene in _Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey_ and I would not be at all surprised if that's where my subconscious dragged it from! I love that scene. So kooky and surreal (I love how Bogus Journey just punches up the weirdness tbh) This was also before the Stranger Writers tweeted about Bogus Journey on their video store Friday or whatever it's called haha
> 
> And ICYMI the Harringrove Holiday Exchange is running again this year! [Sign up here!](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/harringroveholidayexchange2019) :)
> 
> ETA: forgot to mention that the movie Susan and her unnamed friend are talking about is _Making Love_ which was the first (I believe) positive studio/mainstream movie about gay men. It’s on YouTube if you want to watch it! It’s pretty cheesy but it’s also quite lovely in some parts and important historically!


	4. COCYTUS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! This fic is back from the dead!

The ringing in Steve’s ears gets louder and louder until he realises it’s no longer inside his head.

He opens his eyes. He’s back in that blank space, where he first landed.

‘No, no, no.’ Where his voice was sucked into the nothingness before, it carries now, but it’s tinny. Faraway.

And it’s almost drowned out by the ringing that just won’t stop. Steve covers his ears, hands fisted in his hair, heart beating rabbit fast. He looks around, turning on the spot on wobbly legs.

Across the way, hanging on some unseen wall, or maybe suspended mid-nothing, there is a phone. Steve hesitates a moment, then moves across the empty space to pick it up. ‘Hello?’

‘Mom?’

‘Billy?’ Steve swallows. ‘Is that you?’

‘I know it’s late, but—’

‘Billy, it’s Steve.’ There’s no answer. ‘Billy, can you hear me?’

Billy’s voice catches when he says, ‘I miss you, too.’

It’s then that Steve realises he’s listening to a memory. Half a conversation that Billy had years ago, with his mother. His heart sinks.

‘I just want to know when you’re coming home.’

Silence as Billy waits for his mother to answer. Steve shifts his weight. He wishes he knew what Mrs Hargrove had said to Billy. But maybe knowing would be worse than guessing. How did she explain, when Billy was so young?

‘I’ll be better, if you come back. I promise.’

Fuck.

‘Please.’

A door slams across the line, somewhere in the distance. Footsteps sound across floorboards. There is a gasp, then a gruff voice says, ‘I don’t want you talking to him,’ and then a click.

Steve almost hangs the phone up but the dial tone starts again so he waits. There’s nothing else to do.

‘Mom?’ Billy’s voice is low. ‘I don’t have much time before dad gets home—’

A pause.

‘I know you said not to call this late, but I just want to talk to you.’

‘Please, Mom.’

The pleading twists in Steve’s gut. It’s so different to the Billy Steve remembers, but after everything he’s seen, Steve gets that he never knew Billy at all.

Another dial tone, another call.

‘Is my mom there?’ Billy says. His voice is a little deeper, still young. There’s irritation in it when he adds, ‘It’s Billy. Her son,’ in a way that sounds like he’s had to say it before. Too many times.

Steve wonders who Billy is talking to. A new boyfriend, maybe.

‘Tell her I called.’ Billy hangs up.

‘I told you not to call.’ It’s Neil this time. A beat and then, ‘Fine. You’ve got five minutes.’ His voice is muffled, like he’s holding the phone away from his mouth, when he says, ‘Billy.’

There’s shuffling, and then, ‘Yeah?’ Billy’s voice is deeper, now.

‘Your mother is on the phone,’ Neil says, voice clipped. ‘She wants to talk to you.’

‘I don’t want to talk to her.’

The line goes dead. No more dial tone.

Steve finally puts the handset back onto the cradle.

But as soon as he sets it down it rings again. He sucks his lip between his teeth and picks it up. No one says anything, so Steve says, ‘Hello?’

‘You don’t give up, do you, Harrington?’

‘I_ can’t_ give up.’

‘Yeah?’ A hollow laugh. ‘Why not? What makes me so worth saving?’

‘I—’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘You didn’t give me a chance.’

‘OK, I’m giving you one, now: why do I get a second chance, huh? Plenty of other dead folks who don’t.’

Steve sighs, but he can’t think of an answer because the phantom ring of the telephone is chiming in his ears and his head hurts and he wants to go home. ‘Billy, I don’t want to be stuck here. I’m back in the black space.’

‘Now you know what it felt like for me in Hawkins. Fuck, I hate that town. There’s nothing for me there. Don’t you get that?’

‘OK, OK, I get it, but—’ The space around Steve feels too vast and too small, all at once. He sucks in a breath against the tightness in his chest. ‘Just…I don’t…tell me how to get out.’

There’s silence on the other end of the line and Steve thinks that maybe Billy’s hung up. Maybe Billy will let Steve be stuck here forever. Maybe Billy doesn’t know the way out any more than Steve does. ‘You have to go through.’

‘Through what?’

‘The door.’

‘Billy, there’s no—’ There is a strange shimmer in the air and then a door appears. ‘What…’ Steve holds the phone close to him with both hands. ‘What’s on the other side of the door?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘_Billy_.’

‘I’m serious. I’m not fucking with you this time, Harrington. I have no clue.’ Billy draws in a breath. ‘I think it’s up to you.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Guess we’ll find out.’ Billy’s voice is breaking up, like the connection is bad. ‘But, Harrington?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Stay out of my head, OK?’

‘I don’t—’ Steve shakes his head. ‘I’ll try?’

The line goes dead. Steve hangs up.

He approaches the impossible door, Billy’s words echoing in his ears:

_It’s up to you, it’s up to you, it’s up to you._

How could anything here be up to him? He didn’t want to do this in the first place, and he just wants to go _home_.

But earlier, in the corridor, he’d thought about wanting to see a good memory, about wanting to find the real Billy, and that’s what he’d found. Maybe that’s all he needs to do now. So he thinks about going home, but that only makes him think of Billy saying he doesn’t deserve to go home. How there’s nothing for him there.

Steve can’t figure that out. How could Billy want to stay _here_? What could he think of himself to think he doesn’t deserve to go home? How can there be _nothing_ for him? It’s that Steve’s thinking of, more than anything, as he reaches out and opens yet another door.

—

The door opens onto…a classroom. Steve’s old English class.

Okay.

Not exactly what he was expecting.

But at least Billy is here. Two steps ahead of Steve, clad in denim, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, face a mixture of boredom and maybe something like disgust.

‘Class, we have a new student.’

Steve remembers this. It was Billy’s first day at school. But this has nothing to do with home or why Billy thinks he doesn’t deserve to go back. Steve turns away, tries the door, but it’s the school hallway he finds on the other side.

Great.

Billy must have been wrong about it being up to Steve. That or Steve fucked it up. Seems likely.

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

And then he sees himself, sitting at the back of the class. It’s _bizarre_.

His memory self is looking out the window, gaze distant. He remembers that he’d glanced over at Billy, vaguely curious as he had been when Billy’s Camaro had roared into the parking lot, but he’d been thinking too much about Nancy and his college essay to pay much attention to the new guy.

But now, Steve watches Billy.

He introduces himself, winking at the teacher, then looks out across the class. The girls titter as he catches their gazes, and Billy is smirking in a vaguely flirtatious way, but now that Steve can look closely at him, there seems to be an emptiness in his eyes.

It flickers to something more as his gaze sweeps the room, halting for a moment, but Steve can’t tell at what, or whom, Billy is looking.

And then Billy is instructed to sit at the back, in a spare desk, and he swaggers over, throwing his messenger bag on the floor, sprawling in his seat. He gets out a notebook and a pen, opens the book and scribbles something. Billy frowns, scribbles with the pen again. He looks to his left, where Steve is sitting, staring out the window.

‘Hey,’ Billy says.

No response.

‘_Hey_,’ Billy repeats.

The memory-Steve looks over to him. ‘Hm?’

‘You got a spare pen?’

‘Oh, no, sorry,’ Steve says, and goes back to staring out the window.

Something that might be irritation flickers over Billy’s features. The girl next to him offers him her pen and he takes it with a slick smile, and the class goes on.

When the bell rings, Steve follows Billy out of class, to the lockers. Billy watches memory-Steve from the corner of his eye, their lockers only four apart.

‘Hey, new kid,’ Tommy H says, Carol squeezed to his side.

Billy’s eyes narrow, sizing them up. ‘Hey.’

‘Hope you weren’t thinking of hanging out with Harrington,’ Tommy says.

‘Who?’

Tommy juts his chin toward where Steve is getting books from his locker. ‘Harrington. Used to be cool but he’s a loser, now.’

‘Asshole,’ Steve mutters, even if Tommy had said worse to his face.

‘You should sit with us,’ Carol says, smacking her gum.

‘I might,’ Billy says, licking his lips, ‘if you’re lucky.’

The air shimmers, and everything speeds up, like someone’s pressed fast-forward. Everything moves faster and faster around Steve, until it’s all a blur of light, and then it slows down as suddenly as it had sped up.

Steve’s head still spins, but he stumbles down the hall after Billy, following him into the cafeteria.

Billy has a tray of food, and is scoping out the cafeteria, probably looking for Tommy and Carol. But his gaze pauses on Steve’s table where Steve’s memory-self is sitting with his arm around Nancy’s shoulders. It’s so obvious, now, that Nancy didn’t look at Steve the way Steve looked at her. But maybe that’s just hindsight. Billy pauses long enough to make Steve wonder.

Would things have turned out differently if Billy had sat at Steve’s table? If Steve had invited him over? There’s a moment between Steve moving over to his memory self, and stopping by his shoulder, where he’s not sure what he’s going to do. But he reaches out, wondering what would happened if he touched—

One second he’s standing by his own side, and the next he’s…merged together. Past and present in one.

He blinks down at his hands, looks over at Nancy. She’s still talking about essays and the student council and Steve wants to laugh because none of it _matters_.

Then Steve looks over at Billy, who is passing by Steve’s table and says, ‘Hey, Hargrove?’

Billy pauses—not like a person would hesitate, but like a video would pause—and then everything about him shifts. It’s not his memory anymore. Steve hadn’t noticed that Billy holds himself differently in this place.

The rest of the memory goes on without them, but it’s muted, distant and fuzzy.

Billy frowns but he walks over to Steve’s table and sets his tray down, sliding onto the bench across from Steve. ‘This isn’t what happened.’

‘I know,’ Steve says.

‘How did you do that?’ Billy waves his hand.

Steve’s heart gives a little kick. ‘I don’t know.’

A tilt of the head. ‘_Why_ did you do that?’

_I don’t know_. Steve almost says it, but it’s not true. He presses his lips together. ‘We could have been friends.’

Billy huffs, disbelieving, shaking his head. ‘We weren’t.’

‘But we could have been,’ Steve insists. He leans across the table, palms flat on the surface. ‘Didn’t you ever think we could be?’

‘No.’

Steve presses his lips together. ‘Oh.’

‘And it doesn’t matter. Maybe you can do whatever little trick you did and fuck with this memory, but you can’t change what happened.’

‘No, but if you come back…it could be different.’

‘Jesus Christ, Harrington, you’re like a broken record. How many times do I have to tell you: I’m not coming back.’

‘I know you think you don’t deserve it, that there’s nothing for you, but, I mean…’ Steve casts around for a way to make Billy see that he _has_ to come back. ‘You saved El, right? So, you’re a hero.’

And, shit, that was the wrong thing to say because Billy’s face shutters. ‘Fuck you,’ Billy says, pushing away from the table. ‘And fuck your little party trick.’

‘Billy, wait.’ Steve tries to follow Billy but he can’t move. It’s like he’s in a dream, one of the ones where he’s trying to run, or to get somewhere, but his body just won’t cooperate. And then a moment later he’s propelled out of his memory-self.

Billy is sitting with Tommy H and Carol, like he did on that first day, and Steve’s memory is talking to Nancy. The memory goes on, as it should.

Everything in Steve turns over. He clutches his stomach and runs for the bathroom, sneakers squeaking over shining linoleum.

He makes it just in time, and is left feeling wrung out and like a gentle breeze could knock him over.

He makes it to the sinks and runs the faucet. The water he splashes on his face is cool and there’s something distantly worrying about being able to feel it. But he’s too tired to think about it; he looks up into the mirror and his heart leaps. It’s not his own reflection that stares back at him.

‘Billy,’ Steve says, voice rough. ‘Billy, whatever I said wrong, I’m sorry.’

Billy winks at him.

And then the world spins.

—

‘Where the fuck am I now?’ Steve mutters, but his voice sounds wrong. He’s still standing in front of a mirror, and the reflection still shows Billy, but when Steve opens his mouth to speak again, so does the reflection.

‘No,’ he says, and the reflection does, too. He shakes his head, the reflection shakes his head. He places a hand to his chest, so does the reflection. Steve’s breathing speeds up. He looks down, and he sees Billy’s chest, Billy’s boots, Billy’s hands. ‘No, no, no.’

Whatever memory he’s in, now, it looks like he’s going to live it out in Billy’s body. He swallows down the panicked thought that he might not get back to himself, and then someone is calling ‘Billy’ above the music blaring.

‘Yeah, I’m a little bit busy in here, Susan,’ Steve-as-Billy says.

A deeper voice, more commanding, yells out: ‘Open the door! Right now!’

Steve turns, finally. He’s in Billy’s bedroom, and he’s moving even though he doesn’t want to, and then he’s opening the door.

Neil Hargrove is on the other side, Susan just behind him, and he starts in on Steve—no, on Billy—about how he was meant to look after Max and Billy—no, Steve, no, Billy—is saying something about how he has a date. It’s not his job to look after Max, and Max should know better than to go running off, right?

But anger is soon swallowed by fear, the hard press of shelves at his back, his dad in his face.

_Respect and responsibility._

_Respect and responsibility._

_Respect and responsibility._

Steve can’t move and he’s not sure if it’s because he can’t make Billy’s body move, or if Billy is too scared. He can barely breathe through the shame and anger filling him, filling Billy. God. Where does Billy start and where does Steve end?

_Good, kind, respecting brother._

And then Steve is alone, face wet, gasping for breath. He turns, stumbles to the mirror, but the reflection doesn’t move with him.

‘Billy,’ Steve grinds out, ‘why did I see this? I already knew your dad—’

‘You don’t know what night it is, do you?’

‘No,’ Steve says, but a glimmer of familiarity—Billy’s shirt,he knows this shirt—penetrates his daze. ‘I don’t—’

Before he can finish the reflection-Billy reaches through the mirror, grabbing Steve’s—Billy’s—collar, and pulls.

_Good_.

Steve stumbles across the Byers’ kitchen in Billy’s body, and, fuck, it’s weird getting punched in the face with his own fist.

_Kind._

‘Got some fire in you, after all!’

But it’s so much weirder to look into his own face through Billy’s eyes as he pummels himself. Somewhere in the back of his, Billy’s, mind is the memory of being shoved against shelves and backhanded, even as Billy is hitting Steve over and over.

_Respecting._

‘No one tells me what to do.’

The fear and the pain Steve had felt that night with Billy above him is mixed with Billy’s own fear and pain and it’s too much, and Steve wants it all to stop.

_Brother._

Max sticks the needle in his neck and the world see-saws then, once more, fades to black.

—

He wakes up in the backseat of Billy’s Camaro, just like he did that night. He’s back in his own body but there are no bruises, no cuts. The kids aren’t here, either, and the car isn’t moving.

Steve pushes himself up gingerly. His head is swimming, which doesn’t make sense because it was the memory of Billy’s body that got hit by the injection. But it’s Steve feeling the after-effects.

There are soft sounds coming from the front of the car and Steve pushes himself up, gingerly, peering into the front.

‘Billy, are you—’

Oh. Billy’s not alone.

Steve turns away, too sharp, and nearly hurls. He steadies himself with a hand on the cool glass of the back window. He wants to get out, but there are no back doors, and he can’t climb through the front. Not when Billy is—

So, Steve looks out the back window. The concession stand of the Hawkins’ drive-in stares back at him.

Billy is at the drive-in. And he’s on a date. A _heated_ date.

Fantastic.

‘Not enjoying the show, Harrington?’ comes Billy’s voice from the front.

Steve turns back. The girl Billy is with isn’t moving. It’s like she’s paused. Steve looks out of the window. Everything seems to have paused except for he and Billy.

‘Uh, yeah, not really,’ Steve says.

‘You sure about that?’

‘Pretty sure, yeah,’ Steve says, flushing. Billy’s date—Steve doesn’t know her name, but she was a junior—has her hand high on Billy’s thigh. Her fingers curl into the inseam of his jeans.

Steve should look away. He’s not surprised that Billy is here with a girl. It’s not like Steve didn’t know Billy dated girls. A lot of them. But after everything he’s seen, Steve hasn’t been sure if it was real for Billy, with the girls, or a cover. If Billy was like Steve, or just pretending.

But when the memory starts up again, and Steve doesn’t turn away quickly enough, there is a bored kind of look on Billy’s face, and, without thinking, Steve says, ‘Is this what you really wanted?’

The memory doesn’t pause this time, but the girl doesn’t seem to notice that Billy isn’t paying attention to her. That he’s talking to someone who shouldn’t be there. ‘You think you know something about what I really wanted?’

‘No, I just meant…’

‘Thought you didn’t want to watch this,’ Billy says. ‘Or are you getting your kicks back there after all.’ There’s a mean glint in his eyes and he runs a tongue over his bottom lip.

‘No, it’s not like I can go anywhere,’ Steve says, ignoring the wave of heat that washes through him. ‘And I didn’t mean to ask that.’

But he did, and he gets his answer, only not from Billy. Not directly, anyway.

Because the movie playing on the drive-in screen isn’t the movie that Billy and his date came here to not watch. It’s…

Well, it’s Billy in his Camaro, at the Hawkins drive-in. And he’s making out with his date, awkward across the gear shift between them.

But it’s not the girl who had her hand on Billy’s thigh.

It’s another boy.

It takes Steve a moment to get it, but this is his answer. This is what Billy really wanted in this memory.

‘No.’ Billy looks between the screen and back to Steve. ‘How did you do that?’

Steve spreads his hands. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘Bullshit,’ Billy says, ‘you keep fucking with things.’

Steve shakes his head but he’s not listening to Billy.

There’s something about the boy on the screen that pings in Steve’s memory, but Steve can’t see his face. And he’s kind of washed out, besides. But the shape of his jaw and the way his hands cup Billy’s face…it’s familiar. Steve knows him.

The image isn’t clear enough, though, and then it starts to flicker, like the film is at the end of the reel.

‘I’m over this shit,’ Billy says, twisting the keys in the ignition. The engine roars to life and Billy pulls out of the drive-in, the speaker still attached to his window, cord breaking as he tears off.

‘Billy, wait,’ Steve says, clutching the backseat.

‘You’re in my memories, isn’t that enough,’ Billy says. ‘You don’t get to see…’ He thumps the steering wheel and screams. ‘Fuck.’

‘Billy, slow down.’

The girl isn’t with Billy anymore, it’s just Billy and Steve, driving down a long dark road. It might be in Hawkins but the headlights sweeping over the asphalt don’t reveal much. But they go faster and faster and faster, everything speeding by in a blur.

‘Billy, come on.’

But it only spurs Billy on until they’re going impossibly fast.

‘You want a hero, huh?’ Billy says. ‘I’ll show you a god damn hero.’

And then they crash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)
> 
> Much like the kids resurrected Billy, I’ve resurrected this fic! Somehow, I think blood magic and a trip to purgatory would’ve been easier haha 
> 
> Anyway, my aim is to post one chapter on the second Sunday or Monday (Australia time, so Saturday or Sunday night for the US and possibly Europe, depending on when, exactly, I post) each month for the rest of the year! I’ll be posting in between late night feelings, so don’t think I can do it quicker than that unfortunately. If the plan changes, I’ll mention it on Tumblr :)
> 
> Speaking of Tumblr: [got a moodboard for the fic over there](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/629101869119193088/samarra-rated-t-wip-when-the-kids-bring) if that’s your thing!
> 
> And I have [a playlist for the fic on Spotify ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5BXIgKJra29o29tBkfSrqG?si=VGt49UrXSmmG9VD_mmBSQg)


	5. ACHERON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to give a heads up that this chapter goes over a bit of the stuff with Mrs Wheeler because I needed multiple instances of Billy resisting the Mind Flayer as it was significant to this chapter

It’s dark. Again.

Steve has never been afraid of the dark—not as a child, not even after learning there are things that go bump in the night after all—but after this… He’s going to have to start sleeping with the lights on when he gets back.

If he gets back.

When he gets back.

He pushes away the thought that he might be stuck here forever, and tries to get his bearings. But it’s almost impossible when he can’t see anything. He can’t hear anything, either, just his own laboured breathing and the roaring of his blood.

His mind is a jumble of all the things he’s seen in the past…God, how long has he been here? It feels like an eternity. He’s seen so much. Too much. But what was the last thing?

There was a drive-in and a car crash. Billy crashed the car. Did they die? Again?

But Steve isn’t…

Is he?

Panic tries to claw its way up Steve’s chest but he won’t let it. He can’t let it. It won’t help. ‘Billy,’ he calls out, his own voice echoing back to him. ‘Billy are you here?’

Silence.

‘Billy, please tell me you’re here.’

Still no answer. Shit. Maybe the crash separated them. Or maybe Billy’s hiding.

Alone in the dark, something sparks in Steve’s memory. What had Billy said, all those memories ago? It was after Steve saw Billy telling his mom he thought some guy was pretty, and then Billy, as Steve had known him, appeared. They were talking, and Steve was certain he’d found Billy, but Billy had said: _‘I’m all of me, but only part of Billy.’_

A sick feeling settles low in Steve’s gut because he’d thought, all this time, he was chasing the real Billy but what if… What if he still hasn’t found him? Not all of him, anyway. Whatever that means.

‘Fuck.’

‘You kiss your mother with that mouth?’ comes a deep voice from somewhere in the dark. It has a strange quality to it, almost like it’s vibrating.

‘Billy?’ Steve’s heart thuds.

Footsteps sound, growing closer, and something brushes his arm. Goosebumps raise all over his skin.

There’s a sound, a soft metal snick, and then a flame glows bright in the darkness. It illuminates Billy’s face as he lights the end of a cigarette stuck in his mouth. He’s looking at Steve through the flame, and then it goes out again.

The only marker that Billy is still close by is the glow of his cigarette, a tiny dot in the never-ending dark.

‘Billy, what’s going on?’

There’s an odd laugh, coming from all around. Shit. They’re not alone.

‘Put your lighter on again.’

‘If you’re so keen to see, you do it.’

‘What?’

‘Think quick.’

Moments later something hits Steve in the head. ‘Asshole,’ he mutters, then crouches, groping in the darkness. Cool metal touches his palm and he picks the lighter up. He flicks it open, the flame comes to life.

At first it only shows Billy, standing close, smoking. But it glows brighter and brighter, beyond what it should, as the seconds pass, and now Steve knows why Billy’s voice sounded so wrong.

There’s not just one of him. There are dozens of him, all around where Steve and one single Billy stand.

‘What the fuck?’ Steve turns on the spot, looking at the Billys surrounding them. They’re standing still, watching. ‘What… Why are there so many of you? How are—’ He shakes his head. ‘Is this what you meant, earlier? About how I’d only found part of you?’

Billy draws on his cigarette and blows smoke up into the air. It rises and rises, spreading out, until it hovers above them. But it’s more like a dark, stormy sky than wispy smoke hanging in endless black.

At the same time, a charge runs all around them. A sound like thunder rumbles and the sky turns an angry red. There’s a figure, silhouetted against the stormy sky, looming above them. A shape Steve could never forget.

‘The Mind Flayer,’ Steve breathes. He looks back at Billy. ‘It can’t be another memory…’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, there was only ever one of you.’

Billy stares Steve down, and Steve thinks he’s going to keep up this need-to-know act forever. But Billy lets out a long breath and says, ‘It’s what he showed me,’ and taps his head. He’s talking alone, now, the clones silent.

‘Showed you?’

‘Yeah, when he…’ Billy’s jaw works and he looks off to the side. ‘How he wanted to make an army and—’ His voice breaks.

‘I know,’ Steve says, ‘I— I heard.’

‘Well, aren’t you Mr Know-It-All.’

‘I guess I don’t know everything.’

Billy continues and Steve isn’t sure if he’s responding to him, or not, but he says, ‘I was trapped in there.’

‘Where?’

‘In my head. I could feel it all, see it all, but I couldn’t do a damn thing. And no one tried to save me.’

‘That’s not true,’ Steve says, trying not to look at the army of Billy clones around them, and definitely not at the Mind Flayer. ‘Max—’

‘Tried to_ stop_ me. Not save me. And I don’t blame her.’ Billy blinks and Steve thinks his eyes are wet. ‘I did bad things. I didn’t deserve to be saved then, and I sure as hell don’t deserve to be saved now. It’s done. Why don’t you just fuck back off to reality, Harrington.’

‘I would if I could,’ Steve says, then shakes his head. ‘No, you know what, I wouldn’t. Because I promised Max I’d bring you back.’ He steps closer to Billy, pointing a finger at him. ‘Maybe you think she didn’t try to save you before, but she’s trying now, OK?’

‘I didn’t ask her to.’

‘How could you? You were _dead_!’ Cold washes through Steve. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, to make it right. But Billy doesn’t blow up the way Steve had thought he would.

Instead, his brows raise and his face crumples, and then he’s doubled over in fits of laughter. It’s not funny, none of this is, but Steve can’t help it—he laughs, too, until his sides ache and his eyes are wet.

But as Steve’s laughter subsides, he realises Billy’s laughter has turned to tears. He’s on his knees, face in his hands, and he’s sobbing. Steve tries to pull him to his feet, but Billy won’t budge.

‘I did bad things, Harrington.’

‘I know.’ A shiver runs down Steve’s spine when the sky overhead flashes with lightning and thunder rumbles.

‘You don’t know,’ Billy insists. His eyes are wet and blazing. ‘You have _no_ idea.’

‘I do, I’ve seen—’

Billy shakes his head. ‘Not everything. Not yet.’

A television appears nearby, hissing static, and Steve’s stomach sinks. ‘No,’ he says, stepping away, but it only brings him closer to the circle of Billy clones. He swallows. ‘I’ve seen enough. I don’t want to see anything else.’

‘Tough shit.’ Billy stands up and shoves Steve onto a couch that wasn’t there a moment ago, then points a remote at the television. ‘Get ready for the Best of Billy Hargrove.’

The crackling snow is replaced by a picture—it’s wavy and dark, but Steve can see it clear enough. Billy is carrying a girl, who’s bound and gagged. He drops her on the floor of what looks likes a warehouse. _That_ warehouse.

‘Heather?’ Steve asks, looking up at Billy.

Billy gives a curt nod, jaw clamped tight. He’s looking in the direction of the television, but Steve can’t tell if he’s looking _at_ it.

Steve had only known a little about Heather, from what El saw, and he’d known it was awful. Of course he’d known. But seeing it, even on the tiny television screen, is worse than anything he could have imagined.

She looks so scared and— ‘I don’t want to see this,’ Steve says.

‘How about this?’ Billy changes the channel.

It’s Billy and Heather again, but it must be after Heather was possessed. They’re standing over an older couple… Her parents, they got her parents, Steve remembers that. If Billy was trapped in his head, like he said, then so was Heather, and she had to do this, with no control over it. Steve tries to imagine it, doing this to _his_ parents, but he can’t.

‘Or there’s this.’

Billy, still flayed, backhanding Max after she pleads with him.

‘Billy, come on,’ Steve says, ‘I get the point.’

‘If you don’t want to watch, you can leave.’ Billy jerks his chin up, toward the clones circling them, the Mind Flayer looming above.

Steve shifts on the couch. He doesn’t know why they’re all so still, but he thinks it’s worse than if they were moving. ‘I’ll stay,’ he murmurs.

‘Here’s a good one,’ Billy says, ‘you’ll remember this,’ changing the station to show him carrying El to the Mind Flayer.

‘This is stupid,’ Steve says.

‘Excuse me?’

‘None of this was you.

‘Looks like me.’

‘I meant, it wasn’t really you. It was that thing.’ The picture flickers as he speaks, changing on its own.

It’s Billy on his own, now, standing by a crashed car.

‘No,’ Billy says, mashing the remote, but the picture doesn’t change.

Steve leans forward—he doesn’t want to see this, but he can’t look away. There’s a noise and Billy looks angry and scared and then there are tendrils wrapping around his ankles and he’s taken.

‘Jesus,’ Steve says. He hadn’t known _how_ the Mind Flayer did it, not exactly, and he feels sick.

Billy stomps over to the television set and hits it with the heel of his hand, over and over, until the station finally changes back to static.

‘Billy.’ Steve reaches out, but stops short of touching. ‘Billy, none of those things you showed me were you. You couldn’t control it, you told me that yourself.’ He lets his hand rest on Billy’s shoulder. ‘It wasn’t you.’

‘Maybe not,’ Billy says, shirking Steve’s shoulder, ‘but this was.’ He cranks the dial, remaining on his knees by the set. A memory of Billy getting into a fight. ‘And this was.’ Billy yelling at Max. ‘And this.’ Billy beating the shit out of Steve.

Steve grabs the remote from where Billy had thrown it and presses a button at random.

Billy’s head snaps around. ‘What are you doing?’

‘There’s good here, or El wouldn’t have been able to get through to you.’ Steve stands and presses another button, uncertain if he’s trying to convince himself or Billy, and hopes that he’s right. That there is good.

The television shows Billy standing by some shelves and someone coming to talk to him. A woman…

‘Mrs Wheeler?’ Steve blinks, then looks over at Billy. Mrs Wheeler is saying something about how she couldn’t go, she has a family and Steve doesn’t understand. ‘What was this?’

Billy snatches the remote back from Steve. ‘Here’s your “good”, Harrington.’

On the television, Billy is talking with Mrs Wheeler again. Flirting with her. It’s not surprising because Billy flirted with everyone, but Mrs Wheeler looks pleased and when Billy asks, she doesn’t say no.

‘Did you… Were you having an affair with Nancy’s mom?’

Billy gives Steve a feral smile, but it fades too soon to be real. ‘I would have, but I was on my way when that thing—’ His throat works. ‘And she didn’t even turn up. She didn’t want me.’

The way Billy says that hits something deep within Steve, but he’s too caught up on Billy and Nancy’s mom and he doesn’t know how to feel or what to think. It’s all too much. Everything is too much. ‘I don’t—’

‘Don’t tell me you never thought about it,’ Billy says, running his tongue along his bottom lip, ‘fucking Princess Wheeler and—’

‘Shut up,’ Steve says before Billy can finish, everything in him going cold. ‘Don’t talk about Nancy like that.’

Billy smirks and… Oh.

Steve gets it. He shakes his head and says, ‘I know what you’re doing, but it’s not going to work.’

‘What am I doing, Harrington?’

‘Being a dick on purpose, trying to convince me there’s nothing good about you.’ Steve had wanted to see the good in Billy, and the television showed him Mrs Wheeler. ‘Why did the TV show me Mrs Wheeler telling you she didn’t go to meet you when I was trying to find a good thing?’

Billy shrugs a shoulder, not looking at Steve. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do.’ Several things slot into place in Steve’s mind, and he becomes more certain as he talks: ’You said you were possessed the night you were meant to meet her, so you must have been possessed when she was talking to you. But you didn’t attack her, like you did with Heather.’ Thunder rumbles; Steve steps closer to Billy. ‘Why not?’

Silence and then: ‘I didn’t want to hurt her.’ It’s barely above a whisper.

‘What was that?’

‘I said’—Billy looks up at Steve, eyes flashing like the lightning splitting the sky—‘I didn’t want to hurt her.’

The air crackles and, maybe Steve is imagining things, but there aren’t as many clones as there were before. Steve smiles, though it’s hardly a happy smile, and takes the remote from Billy. He changes the channel.

This time, Billy is in a sauna, pleading with Max.

‘_I’ve done things, Max. Really…bad things. I didn’t mean to. He made me do it.’_

‘_It’s not my fault, OK? Max, please. Please believe me, Max. It’s not my fault. I tried to stop him, OK? I did.’_

The picture flickers, waves running through it. Beside Steve, Billy is breathing hard, hands clenched at his sides.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Steve says, ‘you tried to stop him.’

‘Maybe I didn’t try hard enough.’

‘But you _did_,’ Steve says. ‘You stopped him. You broke through.’ He points the remote, and now it’s El talking to Billy, and Billy, the real Billy, facing the Mind Flayer down. ‘You saved El.’

‘Stop it.’

Max is by Billy’s side and she’s crying and Billy looks up at her and says, ‘I’m sorry,’ as he dies.

Steve’s throat is tight and he presses his lips together. ‘You were sorry,’ he says. ‘Those were your _last words_. A bad person wouldn’t be sorry.’

‘God, Harrington, why do you care so much if I was good or bad?’

‘Because I’m trying to prove to you that you’re worth saving, so you’ll come back and we can get out of here. You deserve a second chance!’

‘Do you really believe that? Or are you just saying that so _you_ can get out of here?’

‘I’m not just saying it,’ Steve says, and it’s true. Everything in him knows that Billy deserves a second chance.

‘Then I guess you need to see some more.’ Billy points the remote, clicking over and over, images flashing, all the bad things Billy has done. All the things Billy thinks are bad. ‘This look like someone who deserves a second chance?’

‘Yes,’ Steve says, but his pulse stutters at an image of Billy with another guy. ‘_No_.’

‘What is it,’ Billy asks, pausing his channel surfing, ‘yes or no?’

‘I meant no, this isn’t a reason.’ Steve’s stomach twists. ‘All that other stuff was bad, sure, you did shitty things. I won’t pretend you didn’t. But this’—he waves his hand at the screen where Billy has his hand down another boy’s pants—‘this is not a bad thing.’ His chest is tight when he says, ’You can’t think it’s that bad, right?’

‘Everyone else does.’

‘Well, I don’t.’

Something in Billy shifts; he’s still on his guard, but it’s gentler. He looks Steve up and down, and says, ‘Don’t tell me this doesn’t offend your delicate heterosexual sensibilities.’

‘It doesn’t.’ Steve’s heart thuds. ‘And I’m not.’

Billy’s eyes widen. ‘Bullshit.’

‘It’s not. I’m like you, OK?’

There’s a moment where Billy’s expression is so open that it _hurts_ but, still, he says, ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘What? Why would I make it up?’

‘Like you said, you’re trying to convince me to come back. You’d probably say anything.’

Irritation flickers behind Steve’s ribs. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and then he says, ‘Fine, I’ll prove it to you,’ and reaches for the remote, but Billy holds it away. ‘Give me the remote.’

‘You won’t find anything, it’s only tuned into me.’

‘Just give it.’

Billy’s eyes narrow. ‘Come and get it.’

The changes in Billy’s moods are dizzying and Steve throws his hands up. ‘Fine, you don’t believe me, and you don’t want to give me the remote, and I don’t care.’ He sits on the couch. ‘I’m just… I’m tired, Billy. Aren’t you tired?’

‘I’m dead. I don’t get tired, anymore.’

‘You know what, I don’t think the kids did the spell right. I didn’t come to find you in purgatory, I’m in hell. This is my hell.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ Billy says, and throws the remote at Steve.

Steve catches it one-handed, and turns the remote over in his hands.

‘Works better if you point it at the TV.’

Steve glares up at Billy, then flips through the stations. They’re mostly snippets of Billy’s life or snow but, finally, he finds what he was looking for. Static runs through an image of Steve’s backyard, where Steve had told Robin.

‘How did you do that?’ Billy asks, footsteps echoing as he comes to sit beside Steve.

‘Shut up, just watch.’

‘Am I going to miss the good part?’

‘Yes.’

On the screen, Robin is sitting by the edge of the pool, feet kicking in the water; Steve is sitting beside her, but he’s distracted.

It’s not that weird to see himself on television—his mom loves to bring out the family videos on birthdays and Christmas—but it’s weird to see this private moment, shared only with Robin, broadcast for everyone to see. Or for Billy to see, at least. Steve has seen so many of Billy’s private moments, though, this only feels fair.

‘Well, this is riveting,’ Billy says.

‘Shut. Up.’

Steve remembers how nervous and mixed up he’d felt, even knowing that Robin wouldn’t judge him.

‘Hey, Robin.’

‘Hey, Dingus.’

Their voices come out wobbly and echoing. Steve watches himself fold his knees up to his chest and rest his chin on his knees. He’s not looking at Robin when he says, ‘You know that thing you told me.’

‘I’ve told you many things, my friend.’ Robin is smiling but it slowly fades as she looks over at Steve. Her brow furrows. ‘What thing?’

‘About Tammy Thompson.’

‘Right,’ Robin says, twirling a finger in her hair, ‘that thing.’

‘I should have told you… I mean, I didn’t really know, but it made me think.’ A shuddering breath. The picture jumps. ‘And I think I’m the same.’

Robin looks baffled, head tilted. ‘The same as what?’

‘You.’ Steve still remembers how hard it had been to say that, and everything in him has gone tense all over again. His memory is still talking, saying, ‘I like girls, but I think… No, I mean, I know. I like guys, too.’

_I like guys, too.I like guys, too.I like guys, too._

Steve lets out a breath. The picture slowly fades—it’s shown what Steve wanted it to. Robin’s response was only important to him.

‘So,’ Billy says, voice strange as he stands again, ‘King Steve swings both ways, huh?’

Steve grits his teeth. ‘Yes.’

‘How do I know that was a real memory?’

‘_Billy_.’

‘Fine, so you’re queer too and we can cross being a faggot off the list, but it still leaves everything else.’

And Billy’s right. Steve has seen firsthand, both here and in real life, the bad things Billy, the real Billy, has done. It’s not all of Billy, but Steve doesn’t know how to make him see that.

Steve pushes himself up and looks around; there are only five or six of the Billy clones left. It must mean something good and it steels him. ‘Look, I’ve done shitty things, too—‘

‘Oh, yeah, you kill anyone?’

‘No, and neither did you.’ Steve fists a hand in his hair. ‘OK. Maybe nothing I ever did was as bad as the things you did. But I’ve tried to be better. And I tried to make it right.’

‘And did you?’

‘I don’t know, but I _tried_.’ Appealing to Billy, trying to make him see he’s worth a second chance hasn’t worked well so far. So, Steve shrugs a shoulder and says, ‘But maybe you’re too much of a coward to come back and make things right.’

Thunder rumbles. ‘I am not a coward.’

Several more of the Billy clones disappear, sucked into the darkness.

‘I know you’re not.’

Billy sucks in a shuddering breath and his voice is wet and desperate when he says, ’How do I make it right, Harrington? Tell me that. How do I make it right?’

‘I don’t know.’ Steve spreads his hands. ‘I mean, maybe you can’t, but you told Max you were sorry. Don’t you even want to try?’

A strange charge runs all around them, and Steve realises there is only one Billy left. The clones and the Mind Flayer are gone, and the sky has settled. Hope flickers in Steve—this must be the real Billy. Steve has found him, and if he’s gotten through, they can go home. But Billy remains silent, so Steve says, ‘Are you going to give it a shot?’

After a long moment, Billy gives a small nod, eyes glittering. He clears his throat and says, ‘I mean, anything’s better than spending eternity with you following me around, right?’

Steve huffs, but all the tension drains from him. They can _go home_. He holds out a hand and says, ‘Come on, let’s find the way out,’ but lightning flashes and thunder booms. The sky above is an angrier red than before. Steve shifts in place and adds, ‘Before it starts raining, I guess,’ glancing around, then back to Billy.

Another flash of lightning illuminates a figure behind Billy. Looming above him, reaching out—

‘Don’t move,’ Steve says.

Black coils around Billy, like smoky tentacles, and Steve stops breathing.

‘What…’ Billy looks down, eyes widening. ‘No,’ he says, struggling against the hold, ‘not again.’ He’s pulling at the tentacles, but they only squeeze him tighter. ‘Don’t let it take me again.’

‘I won’t,’ Steve says, finally moving, but he’s too late.

Billy is pulled back, into the darkness, reaching out. ‘Steve!’

‘No!’ Steve was so close. So damn close. He doesn’t think, he starts running, and running, further into the dark, hoping it’s the right direction. The ground beneath him grows softer and then there is splashing and he’s in water up to his knees.

He hopes it’s water, anyway.

‘Billy!’ There’s no answer, and he wasn’t expecting one, but it still sits heavily. ‘I… I’m going to find you, OK?’ Again. Fuck.

Steve stands there a moment, breathing heavily, but there’s nowhere else to go. So, he dives in and starts swimming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I know that was a pretty bad cliffhanger but my original ending for the chapter works better as an opening to the next one! I’m hoping to get it done soon but the past few weeks have been awful for me and I’m still not in the best frame of mind for writing (it’s a miracle I got this done) and I have the Holiday Exchange assignments to send out and some Halloween stuff and anyway - this isn’t my journal XD TL;DR I’m working on it! Haha


	6. PHLEGETHON

There is no way of knowing how deep the water is. It could have no end.

Steve is a strong swimmer, but he’s not sure how long he can last, not when he doesn’t know how far he has to go.

But there’s no other choice. He can’t go back—even if he could see the way back, he wouldn’t go. He has to find Billy. He was so close. They were _so close_. And, so, he keeps swimming.

He swims for longer than he could possibly hold his breath and still he keeps swimming. As he pushes through the dark depths, he wonders if he’s the only living thing down here. A moment later, he decides he doesn’t want to know.

Everything here is so vast and exhausting. But, still, he keeps swimming and swimming and swimming.

And then there is a light. Dim, grey, but clear through the dark depths of the water. Steve swims toward it.

His lungs burn and his muscles strain and he feels lightheaded but he swims with all he has. Kicking forward, grasping for the light.

He comes up gasping, and wades onto the shore.

It’s daytime and the sky is clear and blue overhead; a little way down the beach, a body lies crumpled on the sand.

‘No!’ Steve runs toward it, stumbling as his legs give way over and over, falling to his knees when he reaches Billy’s side.

Billy is lying on his back and his eyes are closed and Steve can’t tell if he’s breathing. Should he be breathing in this place? Does he need to breathe?

Steve grabs his shoulder and shakes. ‘Come on, man, wake up.’ Gulls wheel overhead, and the waves whisper behind him, kissing the shore. But Billy isn’t moving. ‘Billy.’

Mouth to mouth.

‘Billy, come on.’

Should Steve do mouth to mouth?

He reaches out and cradles Billy’s jaw in one hand, pinching Billy’s nose with the other. He tilts Billy’s head back and then—

Billy’s eyes open.

Steve jerks back.

‘If you wanted to kiss me, you just had to ask,’ Billy says.

‘You weren’t breathing, I thought—’

‘Dead, remember,’ Billy says, ‘don’t need to breathe.’ But he’s trembling and, though he said he doesn’t need to breathe, his chest is heaving.

‘Sure.’ Steve braces his hands on his knees, looks around. They’re alone, and the beach stretches on as far as he can see in either direction. ‘Where are we?’

‘Looks like a beach to me.’ Billy’s sitting, now, hair matted to his face.

‘No shit.’ Steve’s heart is slowing, and he can feel the sun warming him, smell the brine in the air. ‘It must mean something, though, or he wouldn’t have brought you here.’

There’s a long pause before Billy says, ‘I don’t think he did.’

‘Well, we’re here, aren’t we?’

Billy doesn’t answer, not straight away. He stands, and looks around; Steve stands, too, sticking close to Billy. The sun may be shining, and the sky might be clear, but this place keeps tripping him up, so he doesn’t trust any of it.

‘I think I did this,’ Billy says. ‘I think I brought us here.’

‘But the Mind Flayer… I saw him take you.’

Billy is still facing away from Steve as he says, ‘I think that was part of me.’

‘Wait, what?’

Billy runs a hand over his face. ‘I don’t know, man, I just… It’s just a feeling.’

‘It’s OK,’ Steve says, ‘I believe you.’

‘This was the last thing…’ Billy swallows. ‘This place. This memory, it’s how El got through to me.’

‘Oh.’ Steve looks around. ‘She got through to you with an empty beach?’ At Billy’s silence, Steve adds, ‘I mean, it’s a nice beach…’

‘She’s meant to be here.’

‘El?’

The waves lap at the shore; gulls wheel overhead. Billy chews on his thumbnail, and doesn’t say anything.

‘Billy, who’s meant to be here?’

There’s a long stretch of silence before Billy says, ‘My mom,’ voice small.

And that…that makes so much more sense. That El got through to Billy using a memory of his mom. Something twists behind Steve’s ribs, and he fights the urge to reach out to Billy. ‘Then where is she?’ He looks around, expecting to see Billy’s mom any moment.

‘I don’t know,’ Billy says, and starts off down the beach, ‘but I’m going to find her.’

Steve follows, jogging a few paces to fall into step with Billy. ‘Wait. Where are you going?’

‘I have to find her.’

‘But… But why don’t we just find the way home?’

‘She _is _the way home.’ Billy stops, turning to Steve. ‘She has to be. It’s what worked before, it has to work now.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ There’s no room for argument in the sharp look Billy sends Steve. ‘Why else would we be on this beach?’

‘Yeah, OK,’ Steve says, sinking his hands into his pockets. He’s not as sure as Billy is, but he’s seen some of Billy’s memories of his mom—he can’t bring himself to voice his uncertainty. Not about this.

But as they keep walking and walking and walking, Steve realises they’re not getting anywhere. They’re walking the same stretch of beach in an endless loop. Gulls wheel, waves lap at the shore, and they’re still alone.

‘I don’t think we’re getting anywhere,’ he says, after they’ve passed the same lone beach towel for the… Well, Steve’s lost count of how many times they’ve passed it.

Billy ignores him.

‘Billy.’

Still nothing.

It’s a lot for Billy, and Steve gets that, but it’s a lot for him, too. And he was so close to going home, _they_ were so close to going home. He doesn’t want to walk this stretch of beach forever. So, he reaches out and grabs Billy’s elbow. ‘_Billy_.’

The look Billy gives Steve is sharp and pissed off, but there’s desperation in it, too.

Steve sighs and repeats, softer, ‘Billy.’ He doesn’t let go of Billy’s arm. ‘We’re not getting anywhere. We’ve walked the same stretch of beach over and over.’

‘No.’ Billy jerks away. ‘She has to be here, I have to see her, OK? I wouldn’t be here if…’ He swallows. ‘I have to be with her.’

A thought occurs to Steve, then, as he looks at Billy, and it trips from his tongue before he can stop it: ‘Do you _want _to leave?’

‘Yeah, I told you I was ready.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’ As Steve speaks, he becomes more certain. He knows Billy, now. He’s _seen_ him. ‘Maybe you want to stay here to be with your mom when you were happy—’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Billy says, turning away, ‘you don’t get it,’ and he sounds angry, but it lacks his usual fire.

‘Maybe that’s why we’re on this beach,’ Steve presses. ‘You were happy with her here, right?’

‘If that was true, she’d _be _here.’

Steve shrugs. ‘I don’t know, maybe me being here, too, confused it all.’

For a moment, it looks like Billy is going to blow up again, and Steve curses himself for not just keeping his mouth shut. But Billy’s face crumples and he falls to the sand, sitting back on his heels.

Steve sits beside him.

‘I just wanted to see her again.’

‘I know.’ Steve sucks in a breath, the scent of brine filling his nose. It unsettles him, how real everything is here. He runs a hand through the sand, curls his fist, grains of sand stinging his palm. ‘But, I mean, once we get back, you can see her again. Right?’

Billy shrugs a shoulder, looking out toward the horizon. He’s silent again for a long while before he says, ‘Was she there?’

‘Where?’

‘At my funeral.’

The words churn in Steve’s gut. ‘I—’

‘Wait, did _you_ go?’

‘Yeah,’ Steve says, ‘for Max.’ He swallows. ‘I don’t know if I saw your mom. I only knew who your dad and stepmom were because of Max, you know?’ As he continues, he stumbles over his words: ‘I wasn’t paying attention to anyone else, but it doesn’t mean… It doesn’t mean—’

‘She wasn’t there.’ Billy’s voice barely lifts above the waves; he tilts his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘My mom’s not the way home.’

‘I know.’

Billy turns to Steve, hands resting on his knees. ‘I don’t know how to get home, Harrington.’

‘Me either.’

‘Didn’t your little spell tell you that?’

‘If it did, don’t you think I would’ve told you by now?’ Steve sighs. ‘It just said someone you spilled blood with could bring you back, and that I had to witness you.’

Billy’s face screws up. ‘Witness me?’

‘Yeah, I guess that’s what all these memories were about. Didn’t say what to do after that, though.’

‘That’s just dandy.’ Billy shakes his head, something lightening in him as he glances sidelong at Steve. ‘And you didn’t think to ask for details before you just let those shitheads cast a spell on you?’

‘No.’ Billy gives Steve an incredulous look and Steve says, ‘Max was really upset. And insistent!’

‘Sounds like Max.’

‘And it was freaky, seeing your body all…’ Steve waves a hand. ‘Empty.’

Billy hums, the sound making no indication of how he feels that his body is currently sitting in his bedroom, waiting for his soul to return.

‘So, what now?’ Steve says.

‘No idea.’

‘Great.’

They fall into silence, sitting side by side on the shore. It would be nice, if Steve didn’t know he were trapped in purgatory, stuck in the endless loop of this empty memory.

After a little while, Billy says, ‘Tell me a secret.’

‘What?’

‘Tell me something no one else knows.’

Steve shifts, sand crunching beneath him. ‘I already told you, you know…’

‘But that chick in the memory knows that, too.’ Billy turns, leaning toward Steve. ‘I wanna know something no one else knows.’

Steve searches Billy’s face, but he doesn’t need to ask why Billy wants this from him. One secret would barely start to settle the debt between them. But Steve is tired and mixed up and Billy already knows his biggest secret. What else can he give?

He chews on his lip, thinking, then says, ‘OK, so, when I was five, I stole some money from my mom’s purse because she wouldn’t buy me this Hot Wheels car I wanted.’ He huffs. ‘But then I felt really bad and put it back, like, ten minutes later. I’ve never told anyone else that.’

Billy’s eyes sparkle in the sunlight, and there’s the hint of a smile playing on his lips, but he lifts his eyes and says, ‘That’s a pathetic secret.’

‘Well, sorry I don’t have more interesting secrets.’

‘I bet you do.’ Billy’s eyes dip, then he looks back out at the ocean. ‘Which Hot Wheels was it?’

‘What? I… God, I don’t remember.’

‘Come on, you wanted it that bad, you have to remember.’

Steve draws in a breath and shuts his eyes. He tries to picture the display from all those years ago, but it’s hazy like the department store in Billy’s memory was. ‘I don’t know, man. It was red, though. Or maybe blue.’

Billy snorts.

‘Do _you_ remember all the toys you wanted as a kid?’

‘Whatever,’ Billy says, ‘tell me another secret.’

‘OK…’ Almost all of Steve’s secrets are shared by at least one other person, and the ones that aren’t are silly things, like the Hot Wheels story. But maybe there is something… ‘So, um, I didn’t get into college. Didn’t even get into Tech. Most people know that, though, that’s not…’ He sighs. ‘But when my dad found out, he—’ Steve hesitates. The way Billy’s dad treated him is so much worse, but he’s started now so he goes on: ‘He didn’t talk to me for, like, a week.’

He glances at Billy, but Billy doesn’t say anything, so Steve stumbles on, saying, ‘And I mean, he’d done that before but this… It’s like he was pretending I wasn’t even there.’ He lets out a rueful half-laugh. ‘I thought he was going to disown me.’

‘My mom tried to make everything normal, but I could tell she was really disappointed in me, too.’ He shrugs one shoulder. ‘I know that’s not something no one else knows, but…’

‘It counts,’ Billy says.

Steve nods, chewing on his lip. The memory of that week still fills him with shame, and he’s not sure if it’s better, or worse, now that someone else knows. ‘So, um, that’s my secret, I guess. The story of how I disappointed my dad so much, he pretended I didn’t exist for a whole week.’

‘Your dad sounds like a douche.’

‘Yeah.’

Billy knocks his knee against Steve’s, the gesture oddly pally for him. They settle into silence, but after a while Billy says, ‘You were right, you know.’

‘About what?’

‘About me not wanting to leave.’ Billy ducks his head. ‘I told you I was ready to go back, to try to make it right. But then I thought, what if I never see her—’ He breathes out. ‘I kept thinking I just want to see her again, one more good memory of her, and then I’ll go. Even as I said I’d go with you.’ He glances at Steve. ‘That’s why I think the Mind Flayer was part of me.’

The ocean is the colour of Billy’s eyes, glittering in the sun. Billy’s gaze holds Steve’s. ‘But I can’t stay here. They’re just memories.’

Steve nods. His hand covers Billy’s where it rests in the sand.

The sun begins its descent, painting the sky in fiery oranges and pinks and—

‘The sun’s setting!’

‘It’ll do that.’

‘No,’ Steve says, grabbing Billy’s forearm, ‘we’ve been here for ages, and nothing’s changed. But now—’

Billy’s eyes widen. ‘Yeah.’

Steve looks around. ‘Nothing else is different, though.’ His stomach twists. Fuck this place.

‘No,’ Billy says, ‘that wasn’t there before,’ and points to a small, rundown shack.

‘Are you sure?’

Billy nods. ‘Yeah, I… I hid this memory away for a long time, but I still know every fucking detail, and that was not there before.’

They exchange a look; Steve pushes himself up, offering a hand to Billy. Billy takes it. He doesn’t let go and they walk toward the shack together.

‘Do you think this is it?’ Steve asks.

‘Yeah, guess so.’

‘OK.’ Steve takes a step forward, but Billy stops him. ‘What’s wrong?’ If Billy’s changed his mind again Steve doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

‘Before we go back, I want…’

‘What?’

Billy’s gaze roams Steve’s face, lingering on his mouth. Is Billy going to— But then Billy shakes himself and says, ‘Nothing.’ He clears his throat and nods at the door. ‘Ready?’

‘Yeah,’ Steve says, frowning, ‘I’m ready.’

They open the door and step through, hand in hand.

—

Nothing stretches all around. This place is like the black empty space Steve fell into when he first came into purgatory. But it’s grey. Like a faded black t-shirt. It’s somehow even _more_ nothing than the black was.

‘Either Hawkins has changed since I’ve been dead,’ Billy says, ‘or that door wasn’t the way home.’

‘No kidding.’ Steve’s chest tightens and his breathing speeds up. ‘Fuck, it’s never going to end, is it?’ His hand slips from Billy’s as he turns in a circle. ‘I finally got you to see that you deserve a second chance. I saw all those things, and it still didn’t work.’ He runs a hand over his face. ‘Maybe this is just it. Maybe we’re stuck here forever.’

‘At least you’ve got good company.’

‘This isn’t funny.’

‘Do you see me laughing?’

‘No,’ Steve says, and, ‘Sorry.’ He breathes in, then out. ‘There has to be a way, we can’t have come this far and—’ There’s a small envelope a few feet away from him. He’s not sure if it was there before.

‘What?’ Billy says.

Steve goes over and picks the envelope up, but it’s addressed to Billy. ‘Uh, I guess this is for you?’

Billy snatches it, tearing the envelope open. His brows raise, and his eyes widen.

‘What does it say?’

Billy crumples the paper, getting out his Zippo and setting it alight.

‘Billy, what did it say?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Billy says, looking up at Steve, ‘but I know what I have to do.’ He licks his lips. ‘I know why it didn’t work.’

Steve shifts his weight. His heart beats hard. ‘OK?’

Billy stalks over and between the furrow in his brow, and the look in his eyes, there’s a horrible moment when Steve thinks the tables are going to turn on him again. That this place is messing with him, that Billy isn’t really Billy, or maybe he’s changed his mind.

But then Billy grabs Steve’s wrists and pulls him close and kisses him. Just like Steve thought—hoped—he was going to before they stepped through the door. And it’s good. It’s brief and more of a press of their mouths against each other than anything but it’s _good_.

‘Um…’ Steve chews on his lip. ‘Is this some kinda fairy tale magic kiss deal?’

And Billy actually laughs at that, the sound like the first cool breeze after a sweltering summer. ‘No, I just wanted to get one in in case…’

‘In case what?’ Steve frowns. ‘We don’t get back?’

‘In case I lose my nerve out there.’

‘You won’t,’ Steve says.

‘I’m holding you to that.’

‘OK.’

There is silence, then, while Billy looks at Steve, and Steve wonders what it is Billy thinks he has to do to get them home. Wonders what the letter said. Hopes it wasn’t something terrible, but with this place it could be anything. And then Billy finally speaks:

‘Look, I shouldn’t have beat you up,’ he says. ‘You know why I…’ He shakes his head. ‘Doesn’t matter why, I shouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t right. And I have to start making things right.’

Steve blinks. It’s not what he was expecting, not what he’s ever expected from Billy, so he only says, ‘It’s OK, it’s ancient history, man.’

‘That still doesn’t make it _right_.’ Billy’s grip on Steve’s arms tightens and he pulls until they’re standing toe to toe. Sharing breaths. Almost touching. He licks his lips. ‘Harrington.’

‘Yeah?’

‘_Steve_.’ Billy looks Steve in the eye and says, ‘I’m sorry.’

And then the world fades and Steve is falling again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :D 
> 
> We’re nearly there! Hoping the final chapter will be up by the end of November :) (just depends on some other things I’m working on :))
> 
> There’s a[ moodboard on Tumblr](https://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/629101869119193088/samarra-rated-t-wip-when-the-kids-bring) and [a playlist on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5BXIgKJra29o29tBkfSrqG?si=hjr1KmuyQ-esLLqyExg-aA) if you’re into extras like that :)


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